My bed is a low profile twin from Ikea that I bought when I gladly downsized to make room for my Aunt who was my housemate and companion for the last five years of her life. Every morning when I get out of bed I think about how, after two years, it is high time I return to my real bedroom and set up my real bed where I can stretch out fully without hitting up against a wall. I will retrieve the down quilt from storage and go back to having fun making the bed. Just give that quilt a hard shake and you are good to go.
My feet hit the floor. They haven’t far to go. I need a new floor. Already I have unintentionally imprinted the day by reminding myself of my inaction. I struggle putting one foot in front of the other and chastise myself for not exercising. I turn on Morning Joe to see what blew up during my absence.
I’ve lost sight of the fact that I have just regained control of my body after 8 hours of surrender. If I don’t see the resurrection in that, where will I see it? Every morning is new life and deserves a nod of reverence straight away to the One who gave it.
So I will begin the morning with something new. As I solemnly knock on God’s door I will focus my attention on my body with a few precious, quiet moments of reaching, bending, stretching, balancing. Life surely deserves this much from me: that I approach it with a sense of urgency, intensity and intentionality. Maybe in this morning silence I will find it anew.