Oh, sacred mornings. It may be the snooze button or the tennis shoes sitting on my dresser staring me in the face: if I vow to take the best care of what I most value, how would my mornings change?
As my two-year-old crept down the stairs at 5:05 a.m., bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, looking for waffles, I swept him back to bed. This time is my sacred place. It should be unknown to all those under four feet tall. If this indeed is my sacred time, to what do I give my first fruits? Do I give my best energy to the most treasured things? Do I let my first fruits pass, while I hit the snooze button delaying the day, then wake up to a tizzy of activity, feeling behind before the day even begins?
Is this time sacred only because I cup it defensively in my hands, treasuring it as mine, in a time where it can feel so little is actually mine…all mine? Am I missing everything that this time could be? Rather than living with palms up and hands open, do I grasp this time firmly with both hands, attempting to squeeze out every last morsel?
Will I choose to give God my first fruits, to give Him my best? Will I ask Him to care for my soul because that is the overflow that will splash all over the people that I love in a few short hours and shape how they hear God’s voice through the day?
Days turn into weeks which turn into months and years. I must take the best care of what I value the most, not the most urgent, the scariest, or the loudest. I will choose what I value the most. I will live, breathe, stop, and realign so that as time passes, my days are watered by the Spirit, free to grow densely along His path of truth: the path which I value the most and of which I will take the best care.
