6:30 In The Morning - November 30, 2021

Please tell me you don’t know any Baby Boomers that actually get out of bed at 6:30 in the morning for something other than work or insomnia. Since being unemployed, I only see 6:30 am due to a nasty thing called pain. It’s certainly not my choice to be awake, let alone get up for anything at that hour, especially in the cold, dark, early hours. Just ask my appointment calendar. I shudder when the doctor asks me if I can come in at 8:15 am. Um, no. “Mornings are not good for me,” I say. Do you have anything around two in the afternoon?” Granted, chronic pain and sleepless nights can sometimes have me feeling like I got run over by a truck. In my defense, I need some time to recuperate from that. However, that time of morning has never been my best hour.

“I think I’m allergic to morning.” -Snoopy

Oh, how things can change. I’ve written a lot in this blog about how I’ve been changing here. How I am surprising myself. I opened the blackout curtains this morning and saw a strip of orange against a black horizon. I dragged myself out of bed to get the camera then said to Paul, “I really want to go down to the boardwalk but I’m too tired.” The strip got more vibrant, revealed pink tinges and it was then I couldn’t help myself. On went the sweatpants and sweatshirt. I grabbed my shoes and went down to the beach. It seems I’ll do just about anything for a good photo, including two of my least favorite things, getting up and being cold. Although cold is a relative term here. It was in the mid forties.

No one was out. Heck, I don’t think anyone was awake. I love this quiet time. Where everything in the world is hushed. For a few sacred minutes, you can feel the sun inching it’s way into the morning, slowly spattering pastel watercolors across the sky like it’s announcing itself before completely arriving in full luminous glory for the day. It’s in those minutes I feel heaven’s whisper. “Everything’s going to be okay today. Just put your hand in mine and I’ll walk you through.” In a few minutes, all that’s left is God’s fuchsia signature across the horizon as if to say, “I’ve got you. Just like I always do.” And I think, Oh yeah, why do I always forget that? I’m awestruck by the message and beyond grateful to be in this spot, exactly at this time. Maybe the angels were nudging me seconds before my eyes fluttered open; “Hey Diane, wake up and get out there. You don’t want to miss this one.” If so, thanks, guys. I owe you.

“The skies proclaim the work of His hands.” – Psalm 19:1

It’s the second day this week I’ve done this and I’m so glad I didn’t miss it. It’s funny how I can convince myself of things I think I can’t do and how I can get stuck in my daily patterns, like lounging in bed reading news or email before I get up; persuading myself my body needs the time. And if you have a half hour, I can give you a bunch more excuses. I don’t know why it’s some sort of revelation when I find something I really, really want to do, I will do it. And shockingly, despite increased pain, my body cooperates most of the time. Maybe it’s adrenaline. Maybe it’s all the good endorphins running through my mind. Whatever it is, I’ve come to the conclusion the payoff is worth it. These are my moments. Strung together, moment upon moment, they offset all the other not so great ones.

“Every day a million miracles happen at sunrise.” -anonymous

They say you should witness a sunrise once a year. I can see that once a year is not going to be enough for me. I can’t afford to miss a single miracle.