My husband, Sean, is a morning person. He is the doesn’t-need-the-snooze-button, sings-in-the-shower type. On a typical weekday morning, Sean walks the dog, reads the news, takes a shower, steams his slacks, and fries an egg white omelette. While smiling! Often, while humming!
I, on the other side of the spectrum, am the refuses-to-do-anything-before-coffee type. On a typical weekday morning, I make the bed and the coffee and get cleaned and dressed (after the coffee, of course, lest my shower thoughts turn very dark). On a good morning, I eat my breakfast before getting in the car. On a phenomenal morning, I do my makeup before getting in the car. Most notably, however, I do this all without smiling and often, while whining at Sean’s humming.
All that being said, I developed this very practice at Sean-the-morning-person’s suggestion. Early last year, following my move to Tampa, I spent most of my days searching and applying for jobs. I was, in a word, miserable. Bored, frustrated, depressed, and insecure would work well. I dreaded the bright Florida sun because it reminded me that days were passing; other wonderful people were out there doing wonderful things while I was stuck. To Sean, however, the sun was a reminder that a new day had dawned and I had a fresh opportunity to discover my dream job. The dark house, he argued, wasn’t helping with my unhappiness. Open the blinds, he suggested, let the light in.
So, one morning, after I’d had my coffee, I walked slowly around the house, opening the blinds one by one. I felt vulnerable stepping across the bright shafts of light; the sun was shining on all my sadness. So, for encouragement, I picked up a Bible and turned to the first passage about light that came to mind: John 1:1-5. For weeks, I read the passage from the Bible in my right hand while I twisted open the blinds with my left hand. Each morning, I walked from window to window, whispering the words, until I memorized them, until I believed them.
Now, a year later, this prayer practice is as much a part of my morning routine as my cup of coffee. Even as I hurry out the door, it reminds me that everything begins in and with God. He created me; he created this day; he created me to live this day. It may not be a good day, but it is a blessed day.
This practice reminds me that the light is there, even if I close the blinds on it.
This practice reminds me that I am part of this light, even if I don’t feel its warmth or its brilliance.
This practice reminds both the Sean- and Mel-types that, regardless of our accomplishments and despite our failures, everything still comes to be through Christ. And, even I think that’s something worth waking up for.