Pre-Dawn Tradition

It's 5:00 and the day begins. I'm tired, but I pull my body into sweats and shoes and lurch out the door, willing my legs to run fast in the icy air. It's Monday, the day of high expectations (and therefore high losses), and I know the importance of the endorphins that will fuel this day. Back inside the house the kitchen is streamlined for early morning efficiency and silence. The coffee is made; my Bible and journal beckon. I know what awaits me on Mondays: the low after the weekend high combined with an untidy house, expectant kids, and all the carefully made plans for building up their little souls and minds that I must accomplish according to the detailed timeline that I made on Sunday. So I know this time in the morning is sacred. It's essential.  I light a candle, ready to begin. 

 

And then there it is: the pitter patter pitter patter of little feet. A pint-sized voice, and down the stairs he comes. "Mommy!" His grin is 100 watt and could light the darkest room.
He exults in his morning victory at the Finding Mommy Game. He points to my carefully laid Quiet Time accessories."Candle!" He shouts. And now the baby is awake, too.

I feel that inward twinge, that frustrated cry welling up inside me. This is my time! I want to pump my fist. Maybe I should form a union.

 

But there he is, standing in front of me: the focus of my day, the end to my prayers. He is warm, radiant, and ready for my love. So together we pray. We begin what is becoming a morning ritual of mommy/boy time, each of us reading in (periodic) silence beneath the morning candle, waiting for the sun to rise and light our day.  

 

I do long for those days of hour-long Scripture times and solo prayer in the morning. But this is sacred, too. So in the meantime, I'll continue to tiptoe in the pre-dawn dark, but chances are, someone else is tiptoeing with me, too.