There are these mornings, these mornings, like this morning, when I manage to get up when my alarm goes off. Mornings when I do not wrestle with my enemy, Snooze Button, but roll out of bed, no more awake than other mornings, but my resistance to stay inside myself is weak and my desire for more than myself, for Peace that exists outside of a head on pillows with eyes closed, is somehow forefront.
There are mornings when Snooze wins, sometimes ten sometimes forty-five minutes of my time. Those mornings are never restful. They are marked by hurry and a slightly panicked feeling of having to cram it all in before I have to rush off to work. In this hurry and this rushing there is the underlying desire for slow. There is an understanding that the extra minutes have not granted me extra peace.
Peace is found in sleepy eyes that strain open as the smell of ground coffee and the sound of a kettle on its way to boiling mark the start of more. Peace is found as the kettle boils, water saturates coffee, and four minutes pass quickly. Peace is found at a small wooden table next to windows that are full of sky changing from navy to morning, a table that requires layers in the winter and open windows in the summer.
On these mornings I cannot bring myself to turn on a light. These mornings I light candles and wrap myself in the comfort of the slowly waking, and of the Peace that exists even before I sit and open the Word.