There is something about mornings I have been meaning to capture for a little while now. I am always afraid I cannot do such beauty justice. Fear should never stop us from trying, should it?
There is something so gentle about mornings, so restful, so forgiving. Everything is soft, everyone respectful as the earth slowly begins her daily turn. They all move in that same turn, with sleepy, salt-filled eyes and coffee held warm, in hand. Each walk with bowed heads and half-smiles, acknowledging one another as minds take in the brightening world.
The sun peaks in, slowly at first, but radiates deeper and deeper still, with each small second that passes. The time moves slowly, upon a slow-warming earth. The clouds part ways for that rose-colored sky, each scattered slowly. The sound is kind in the mornings, something plays far off, a thing that eases us all in.
Sometimes the night is unforgiving, its only intention to steal from me another dawn, another restful morning.
I happened upon a quote and fell in love with it:
"I’m tired of people romanticizing overexertion. Exhausted is not the new chic, coffee (though a delicious necessity) is not a food group, and running on fumes is not admirable. Why do we hold pedestals for sleepless nights, breakdowns, and inner turmoil? Are those things to aspire to? Self-care. Balance. The ability to know when your body, mind, and spirit need to take a step back. Those are things we should admire. We have to stop blurring the line between ‘commitment’ and self-endangerment because too many people are burning out before they have a chance to truly shine."
We burn out before we can see the dawn of a new day. The heightening of senses and the uplifting knowledge of renewal is stolen from us in our overexertion.
We miss those glory-filled mornings, the softness, the solitude. Psalm 143:8 tells us, "Let me hear in the morning of your steadfast love, for in you I trust. Make me know the way I should go, for to you I lift up my soul."
While nights can be beautiful, full of honesty and understanding, the morning is what brings hope again. Nights hold much ambivalence to me; dreams arise, sometimes equally with anxiety, however. I say, choose your battles well.
I am unsure of so much, but I am sure of beautiful mornings. I am sure of loving hearts, gentle eyes, and forgiving hands. I am sure of renewal. Above all, I am sure of a God that reminds us of this love through this sort of symbolism, through newness. There is a reason for it all; I am in awe.
"I remember the days of old;
I meditate on all that you have done;
I ponder the work of your hands.
I stretch out my hands to you;
my soul thirsts for you like a parched land. Selah"