Updated: Mar 23, 2021
“The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you. Don’t go back to sleep.” -Rumi
To understand me, you must first understand morning.
My love for the morning runs deeper than my lifetime. It comes from my father, and his father, and so on. This love, it’s carved into my heart, a part of the constant, steady beat.
Morning. The silence of a home. The cool darkness. The creaks that run through the walls, the floorboards. First light as it begins to cut across the sky, the colors begin their dance, the sun, its greeting.
Hot coffee between my hands. The slow, heavy breathing of my son. I sit, with my eyes closed, my legs crossed, a blanket in my lap. I sit and let the day begin to wash over me.
Mornings are the same anywhere you are. In Haiti, the roosters loud, ready. The donkey hooves on the dirt path outside my windows. The dogs chasing kids as water splashes out of the buckets on their heads. The shuffling of feet in the kitchen, the stirring of hot coffee, the smell rising. The sun, magnificent in the early morning, spreading its light over mountains beyond mountains. The heat hasn’t yet awoken, as fathers kiss their children before they walk to the fields. Here, you can sit on the roof and pray, start your day with the last cool breeze of the night.
Mornings, they are sacred.
Talitha koum. Arise, little girl. Arise from your slumber. Christ woke her from death with an invitation to rise. Each morning, that same invitation is extended to us. The Spirit passes above us, covers us, pulls back the sheets and taps our eyelids. Arise.
The night is nearly over, the dawn is almost here.
The dawn carries the hope and promise of a new day. Every day, we are given a new dawn. We are given the opportunity to cast off the darkness of sleep, the night, which can be long and full of shadows, and awake to an untouched morning. A beginning, raw and crisp and happening again, every day.
If you struggle with mornings, if there’s an oppression that greets you every day, if the heaviness of the day is too much, try to rise and sit.
Stretch your back, your neck. Swivel your ankles and bend your toes. Sit and breathe and wait. This is your invitation. It’s in this moment that we can conquer the rest of the day. When we are scrambling in the morning, from our kids, our work, our meals, our prep, we are already behind. When we hit snooze and then have to burst out of bed, disheveled and late, we miss the sacredness. We miss the opportunity to share in the rising.
But. If we can wake up and sit. Sit and then breathe. Sip coffee or tea or water. Start slowly. Read, write. Or, just sit.
That’s when the magic happens.
I share this because my best friend can’t wake up. It’s my life mission to teach her about mornings. To help her understand the quiet of dawn. The beauty and the glory and the gift of morning.
“The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you. Don’t go back to sleep.“