Mornings
Most winter mornings my daughter, Ella, is up before the sun. So she and I head downstairs for a morning bottle (for her, not me) and sit in the ugly brown recliner. After finishing off the bottle like a ravenous hobbit, she leans her head back over the crook of my arm, looks at the ceiling and starts to talk. Its like we are two friends sitting on the hood of a car stargazing as we talk about loves and dreams, fears and regrets.
This goes on for a fifteen minutes or so, then Ella squirms to sit up and we play--face to face--for a half an hour or so, while the nearly rising sun casts a pale blue light through the closed blinds into the living room. Then, just a few minutes before Ella goes back down for a nap, I reach behind my right ear and turn the blinds open and the life of morning is revealed right in front of her. I would exchange the rest of my day to spend those five minutes looking at the wonder in her eyes.
For as long as I can remember, I have wished for a disciplined morning "quiet time." It's never worked for me. Our townhouse is full of life in the mornings--Julie is off to work by 6:15, there is the bustling of breakfast in the Benjamin's kitchen on one side, and by the time Brooke leaves for work, Joel is strumming on the guitar to start the day on the other. (There is a familiar comfort in hearing the indistinct banging of guitars through my walls--reminds me of college). But B.E. (before Ella), I was a zombie until about, oh, lunch.
I say that only to say that the morning "devotional" that happens between Ella, God and me each morning blows any expectations I have ever had out of the water. It is worship for me. My heart pours out thanksgiving as I watch the gift in my lap. I understand Love better because of these mornings, and that is as valuable as any of my Bible studies.
Here is the point though: I am struck by how often love and fear are wrapped up in the same moments, the same relationships, the same visions. For each moment I look lovingly on my daughters face, a passing thought reminds me that I could lose her anytime. For all of the beautiful moments between Julie and I, doubt still creeps in. For all the passion I have about my future dreams, it is regularly punctured with fears of inadequacy and disappointment. There is no sure confidence in my love. No absolute trust. It is not Perfect Love.
That is enough for me to chew on for a while.
This goes on for a fifteen minutes or so, then Ella squirms to sit up and we play--face to face--for a half an hour or so, while the nearly rising sun casts a pale blue light through the closed blinds into the living room. Then, just a few minutes before Ella goes back down for a nap, I reach behind my right ear and turn the blinds open and the life of morning is revealed right in front of her. I would exchange the rest of my day to spend those five minutes looking at the wonder in her eyes.
For as long as I can remember, I have wished for a disciplined morning "quiet time." It's never worked for me. Our townhouse is full of life in the mornings--Julie is off to work by 6:15, there is the bustling of breakfast in the Benjamin's kitchen on one side, and by the time Brooke leaves for work, Joel is strumming on the guitar to start the day on the other. (There is a familiar comfort in hearing the indistinct banging of guitars through my walls--reminds me of college). But B.E. (before Ella), I was a zombie until about, oh, lunch.
I say that only to say that the morning "devotional" that happens between Ella, God and me each morning blows any expectations I have ever had out of the water. It is worship for me. My heart pours out thanksgiving as I watch the gift in my lap. I understand Love better because of these mornings, and that is as valuable as any of my Bible studies.
Here is the point though: I am struck by how often love and fear are wrapped up in the same moments, the same relationships, the same visions. For each moment I look lovingly on my daughters face, a passing thought reminds me that I could lose her anytime. For all of the beautiful moments between Julie and I, doubt still creeps in. For all the passion I have about my future dreams, it is regularly punctured with fears of inadequacy and disappointment. There is no sure confidence in my love. No absolute trust. It is not Perfect Love.
That is enough for me to chew on for a while.
posted by ben price at 8:35 AM
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