The Dawn and Doorways

We love our mornings around here, especially as the sun is drawing us out into activity and hopeful attitudes earlier and earlier every day.  On the more temperate Spring days that we’ve been experiencing lately, I’ve been opening the back door off the kitchen first thing in the morning.  I leave the screen door locked only because Evelyn does her version of a sprint to it as soon as it’s open, to which Simone dramatically declares “She’s trying to exape!”  Open windows and doors are close enough to the outside where we all want to be while I’m prepping breakfast and we go about our morning routine.  I can’t help but frequently pause mid-task, hungry as we all are, and turn to take in the sight of our pajama-ed girls playing on the floor in streams of morning light.  They have no idea how incredibly rich their lives are, though their contentment, at least for a time, expresses what they can’t articulate.  So many thoughts go through my head.  I think how I want to burn these memories into my brain and return to it long after we outgrow the ritual. I think about how much I love having two kids.  I pray that God would give us more, there’s still plenty of room, and I know there always will be, wherever we go.   I think of my own deep bond with my sisters, wrought in moments like this one when we were young and growing into the thickest of companions.  I think of my mom and my mother in law and marvel at their love that I’m beginning to understand.  I’m reminded of that special grace that comes with the newness of a day; everything about my being needs that dependable sun to set in the evening so that it can rise again in the morning and make things new.



4 thoughts on “The Dawn and Doorways

  1. Again … beautiful words, beautiful photos, beautiful girls, beautiful memories! I find it amazing that these wooden shelters conjure up so many emotions in us … both the good and the bad. It’s so easy to think of all the “what if’s” and “I wish” comparisons, and a real discipline to enjoy the present, cultivate gratitude, and fight the discontentment that comes from unhelpful comparisons. Glad you’re recounting God’s goodness to your family in *this* dwelling. May it strengthen your confidence that He will always be good, as your family moves on. (PS – I love hearing your voice come through in your posts!)

    1. Thanks, Judith! I know personally what you mean about what a house can do to us, how we try to make it a part of identity rather than simply a useful, and even beautiful part of our story. That’s one of the reasons Ian is feeling ready to be renters for a little while, an old house competes for our time and affections with our other priorities right now. loved the space, thankful for it, but excited to see what’s next.
      (in all the drafty japanese houses you have lived in, i know you could relate to the freezing toes! remember those down booties you would wear? 🙂

  2. Morning has broken, like the first morning.
    Blackbird has spoken, like the first bird.
    Praise for the singing, praise for the morning,
    Praise for them springing fresh from the Word.

    Sweet the rain’s new fall, sunlight from heaven.
    Like the first dewfall, on the first grass.
    Praise for the sweetnes of the wet garden,
    Sprung in completeness where His feet pass.

    Mine is the sunlight, mine is the morning.
    Born of the one light Eden saw play.
    Praise with elation, praise every morning;
    God’s recreation of the new day.

    Morning has broken, like the first morning.
    Blackbird has spoken, like the first bird.
    Praise for the singing, praise for the morning,
    Praise for them springing fresh from the Word.

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