A Morning Prayer of Gratitude.
I was reading to my daughter in bed last night.
Looking out the window, the green of the trees contrasted the grey sky, seeming ethereal.
The yellow walls were both cheerful and soothing.
I could have stayed there—next to her—forever, if I couldn’t also hear the baby cry, and if it wasn’t my tenth wedding anniversary, with waiting wine and husband.
I turned to see her still, sleeping face, after I realized that I was the only one who listened to the end of the story and, in that instant, I felt my life slipping by—those kinds of moments that you know you’ll (hopefully) think of at age 90 and wonder where the years went so quickly.
After an evening that included celebrating a decade of married love and the two sleeping children that eventually came along with it, and once in my own bed, underneath silky covers, gazing now at a much darker landscape, I didn’t sleep well—I didn’t want to miss anything.
And this morning, the green trees and the grey sky have a similar visual appearance, but my eyes aren’t seeing them the same way.
Today it looks peaceful, but sad too—but I don’t want to be sad.
So I squeeze my kids, and nurse, and play with the baby and my oldest before she has to go to school, and I know that life does go too fast, but I’m thankful for every ounce of it along the way.
I’m grateful for coffee-with-sunrise grey mornings, when the world could be groggy and tired, but instead finds never-ending pools of energy inside the smile lines of four year olds and the crowning awareness of the life that still lies ahead, among grey skies and bewitchingly green trees.
Photos: Flickr/Volcanic Sunrise; Author’s own.
