Today some of my readers didn’t have the luxury of waking at home, surrounded by the familiar, the comfortable, the beloved. Unwanted circumstances have transferred them elsewhere, and life’s ground feels, if not shaky, at least spongy. I understand.
I love waking at home. Mostly. Today, the sun’s piercing rays reached through our bare bedroom window at 4:30 a.m. It woke me and outside, it roused the birds.
I appreciate these things. All of them. I like the birdsong, and the way the tree shadows dance on the wall near my bed. I like seeing the tissue paper moon fading in the blue silk sky. And sometimes I get up.
More often I don’t. I just lie there. Listening. Watching. Thinking. Grateful for nature’s alarm clock and the sound of the Preacher’s deep breaths beside me. Anticipating with pleasure the exploration of God’s latest surprise package we call a day.
Unless I’ve had a late night, or a restless one. Then I notice the streaks on the window I thought I’d washed so well. And how the sunbeams sting, even through my eyelids, and how the birds seem less melodious and twice as loud as yesterday. I mutter a complaint and burrow deeper under the covers.
But I’m always grateful for the blessing of waking in my own room, my own bed, beside my own husband. I remember too well strings of days, months of days, when he wasn’t there. Days when I longed to climb into his bed at the various medical facilities caring for him, just to feel his body beside mine, no matter how broken, no matter how still. Days when I’d have given anything to wake, together, in our own home – no matter what or who woke us.
Some of you hurt like that today. Circumstances have removed or placed at risk the sweet, familiar blessings we all take for granted. Home, where birdsong and daylight, or the fragrance of coffee, or commotion of kids woke you.
There you are, wherever you are as you read this, wishing you’d more often thanked God for life’s precious small stuff. Hugged your beloveds more while you had the chance, because... well... one never knows what this day holds.
If unhappy circumstances have snatched from you one or more of those comforts, my heart hurts for you. Consider these words a hug of compassion from God. He stands nearby. Leap into his lap. He’s big enough to carry you and your load all the way home – in his time, and in his way.
Father God, circle with love my hurting friends reading this. Bring reminders that you are as close as breath. Bolster faith through the encouragement of other believers.
Supply extra strength for today’s hard things, great hope for tomorrow’s healing, and sufficient grace for the journey. Carry them gently into tomorrow and remind them ...
“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit,” Ps. 34:18.
