I spent another full hour slowly coming to, keeping an ear out for any sign of unhappiness from Meg's corner of the house. Finally, at 8:36, Dave sat up in bed, leaned over me and squinted at the red numbers on my alarm clock. "Does it say 6:30 or 8:30?" he asked. I told him. He lay back down. I rolled over on my side to watch my husband's face as he slept. I put my hand out and laid it lightly on his head. The bedclothes were pulled up under his chin. I looked at them, and in the soft morning light that came filtering through our shaded windows, the ugly steel gray of our hand-me-down bedspread, the stretched out shapelessness of our cotton blanket, and the worn sheets that don't match with anything all seemed--for once--at peace with one another.
I looked back at my husband's face and thought how glad I was to have him beside me. Lines from a love song drifted into my mind:
Wanna wake up every morning to your sweet face...
Baby Boy moved inside me, letting me know that he was up too. I put my hand on my stomach to feel the familiar strangeness of his rolling. Meg's happy voice continued to come through the monitor. "I guess I should go get our little girl," Dave murmured, his eyes still closed.
"No, I'm awake." I said, remembering his long and wearying weekend. "I'll get her." I turned to get out of bed, then changed my mind and leaned back over my husband. "I think we should have pancakes this morning," I whispered.
"Oh, you do?" he replied, sounding vaguely excited even in his snooze-mode.
"Yep." I got up, threw a big, slouchy t-shirt on over my pajamas, and left our bedroom to deliver Meg from her crib.
Now, there are plenty of mornings when waking up is much more painful than pleasant, when I don't have a desire to serve my family, when I'm not grateful for all of God's gracious blessings in my life. There are mornings when I am more aware of all that has to be done and the fact that I feel too tired to do it than I am of the grace that is available to me as I walk forward humbly, one step at a time. There are mornings when Meg's voice coming through the monitor is the last thing I want to hear. There are mornings when I think more about how Dave and I both have morning breath than about how much I love my husband.
But yesterday's particular morning was such a sweet, rare, gift of a moment in time that I had to capture it and share it with you. It's my way of giving glory to the God who thought it up and made it so lovely.