As I hit the road for my morning walk, the sun hadn’t even begun to rise. But by the time I’d reached the end of January Lane, a massive, peachy-orange ball was just over the tree tops. As I walked back toward the house, my iPhone shuffled to a song my friend Justin Marshall wrote and recorded, and I had a few precious moments of worship with Jesus before the day began.
I’m not a morning person and anyone who knows me would tell you I don’t even like waking up early on Christmas morning. I’ve missed a few gift un-wrappings (much to my own chagrin, as my niece and nephew so enjoy the tradition) and have definitely been late to work a few times because I just couldn’t get my body going.
Since Brent and I have been living here in Ponder, I’ve been waking up early each morning. The sun slashes through the husky darkness in our bedroom, from the East and and the North. Each morning is like a sweet gift of its own from our God, who seems to let the universe glow in radiant reds, peaches, oranges, yellows, pinks, purples and blues for a few moments each day. I live for these new, and very valuable, moments.
Last night I had a really difficult conversation with someone I cherish with all my heart. I knew I had to make the phone call and do my best to settle the unrest between us. I thought I was prayed up and prepared for anything that could come out of the talk, but I wasn’t.
Another thing people would tell you about me is that I don’t play around with my words. I’m “New York direct” and think through everything I say, probably to an obsessive fault. Sometimes my words don’t come out right, but I don’t use semantics to play games with people. I’m a writer, and that would cheapen the English language. It would also make me less than truthful — something I heartily cannot abide. So I had the choice to be honest or to be flattering and try to posture my way through the chat until I got the result I wanted.
But if I let lies and deception enter my heart or flow from my mouth I would sacrifice those beautiful moments with God. Despite the harsh words and the uncaring way they were delivered to me last night, I couldn’t give in. Believe me, at times I wanted to just put it all to bed and beg for the relationship to be restored. I could have pie-in-the-sky once more, but it would all be fake.
So I spent an hour after I got off the phone sobbing on my husband’s shoulder. I hurt, ached even, deeper than I thought I could ever ache. The rest of the evening was difficult and I even went to bed and cried a bit. When I woke up, I won’t lie to you, I didn’t want to get out of bed. But the light of glory drew me into it, like it was calling me into some sort of celestial concert. So I threw my hands up in the air as I walked down January Lane, and I worshiped the only One truly worthy of my praise, my tears and my esteem.