" . . . ever this day be at my side, to light, to guard, to rule, to guide. Amen." So concludes the prayer, "Angel of God," that I learned as a young child, alongside "Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep," "Hail Mary," "Glory Be," and "Our Father" as I was tucked in at 826 South Park Blvd. Every night before bed, this was my Catholic Finch Family prayer cycle.
As an adult, however, I'd start my day with the routine, as I'd oft fall to slumber in the pm before I could conclude, and, quite frankly, because as a person in my twenties, and then thirties, I found my days in need of a jump start to move me toward productiveness and away from the singular thought of wishing for more sleep.
Over time, I've delegated the sequence of rote language for certain, special times of reflection and have clung only to the brief and focused words at the start of this blog for the sunrise -- a humble admission of my shortcomings and need for clarity, a request for wisdom. Or at least a minimal gift of calm and common sense for the day.
And on many, MANY clumsy starts to a weekday, it is specifically the "be at my side to light" that keeps me from crawling back under the covers.
Deep breath in, "light."
Think about the positives from the previous day, "light."
Consider what there is to look forward to in this new day, "light."
Ahhh. Okay, I can tolerate turning off the hot water of the shower and face the world of kids bickering over turns in the bathroom, and a phone call to the car dealership about an urgent repair, and explaining to students how to construct focused notes during their readings on Mesopotamia, and scavenging the fridge for a patchwork dinner, and Bogey's allergy pills hidden into smooshed clumps of soft dog food (twice a day) . . .
And, finally getting to my point, the lights that buoyed me today include:
After getting through our morning routine with relative ease, the kids and I made our way quietly to the sitter's. Minor annoyances leaving us with the desire to stay in our individual morning shells, each child hopped out of the van without much to say. First Baylor, then Anna, then Hunter. Jameson exited, but before jogging up the steps to Colleen's front door, he turned toward me, looked up at my face, and then lunged in for a bear hug. From his cheerful expression and confident stance, it was obvious that he didn't need the hug, but sensed that I did.
I always feel like I'm playing grown-up when I do car stuff -- you know, like handing the keys to the oil change guy and saying, "Just the basic lube, oil, and filter, please" or dialing up Baum Chevrolet and asking for the service department. This is totally old people stuff. Where are my parents -- this is their gig. When did I turn 38? But there IS a most fabulous gentleman who has been answering our calls and questions at Baum's service desk for as long as we've lived here, and every time I have to do boring big people things and pretend to know about scheduling a van repair, this fellow reminds me that customer service still exists. It makes things a little less unpleasant. Ya actually feel taken care of. Nice.
Jimmy John's Vito sandwich.
Gas stations that have flavor syrup options (vanilla!) for their fountain sodas.
A daughter not only earns a good score on a big test, but is excited about it. She values learning. A lot.
A son plays his first organized soccer game, and his hard-earned skills from years of pick-up games in Haiti pay off.
Another son, this one p r e t t y mel-low, has a healthy fire of competition lit under him after seeing younger brother do so well.
Fresh fruit and sweet yogurt dip.
Two weeks until Easter, and I can finally have COFFEE. No, it's not even a caffeine thing -- I drink decaf. And, yes, I know I'm supposed to bear my Lenten cross privately. Rich, dark, bitter, milky, sweet, luxurious beverage of which I am presently deprived -- you're killin' me! (Evil laugh. I don't think this is what the Church intended.) Oh, I mean, the positive thought for which I am grateful IS that I've made it 4 weeks -- and the light is at the end of the tunnel. : ) (See, I put a smiley face thingy.)
More "lights" later. Time for nigh-night so that my cheerful birds-chirping alarm doesn't get it's snooze button whacked too many times. Nice nature sounds alarm, nice alarm, no harm intended . . .
Zzzz z z z z z . . .
As an adult, however, I'd start my day with the routine, as I'd oft fall to slumber in the pm before I could conclude, and, quite frankly, because as a person in my twenties, and then thirties, I found my days in need of a jump start to move me toward productiveness and away from the singular thought of wishing for more sleep.
Over time, I've delegated the sequence of rote language for certain, special times of reflection and have clung only to the brief and focused words at the start of this blog for the sunrise -- a humble admission of my shortcomings and need for clarity, a request for wisdom. Or at least a minimal gift of calm and common sense for the day.
And on many, MANY clumsy starts to a weekday, it is specifically the "be at my side to light" that keeps me from crawling back under the covers.
Deep breath in, "light."
Think about the positives from the previous day, "light."
Consider what there is to look forward to in this new day, "light."
Ahhh. Okay, I can tolerate turning off the hot water of the shower and face the world of kids bickering over turns in the bathroom, and a phone call to the car dealership about an urgent repair, and explaining to students how to construct focused notes during their readings on Mesopotamia, and scavenging the fridge for a patchwork dinner, and Bogey's allergy pills hidden into smooshed clumps of soft dog food (twice a day) . . .
And, finally getting to my point, the lights that buoyed me today include:
After getting through our morning routine with relative ease, the kids and I made our way quietly to the sitter's. Minor annoyances leaving us with the desire to stay in our individual morning shells, each child hopped out of the van without much to say. First Baylor, then Anna, then Hunter. Jameson exited, but before jogging up the steps to Colleen's front door, he turned toward me, looked up at my face, and then lunged in for a bear hug. From his cheerful expression and confident stance, it was obvious that he didn't need the hug, but sensed that I did.
I always feel like I'm playing grown-up when I do car stuff -- you know, like handing the keys to the oil change guy and saying, "Just the basic lube, oil, and filter, please" or dialing up Baum Chevrolet and asking for the service department. This is totally old people stuff. Where are my parents -- this is their gig. When did I turn 38? But there IS a most fabulous gentleman who has been answering our calls and questions at Baum's service desk for as long as we've lived here, and every time I have to do boring big people things and pretend to know about scheduling a van repair, this fellow reminds me that customer service still exists. It makes things a little less unpleasant. Ya actually feel taken care of. Nice.
Jimmy John's Vito sandwich.
Gas stations that have flavor syrup options (vanilla!) for their fountain sodas.
A daughter not only earns a good score on a big test, but is excited about it. She values learning. A lot.
A son plays his first organized soccer game, and his hard-earned skills from years of pick-up games in Haiti pay off.
Another son, this one p r e t t y mel-low, has a healthy fire of competition lit under him after seeing younger brother do so well.
Fresh fruit and sweet yogurt dip.
Two weeks until Easter, and I can finally have COFFEE. No, it's not even a caffeine thing -- I drink decaf. And, yes, I know I'm supposed to bear my Lenten cross privately. Rich, dark, bitter, milky, sweet, luxurious beverage of which I am presently deprived -- you're killin' me! (Evil laugh. I don't think this is what the Church intended.) Oh, I mean, the positive thought for which I am grateful IS that I've made it 4 weeks -- and the light is at the end of the tunnel. : ) (See, I put a smiley face thingy.)
More "lights" later. Time for nigh-night so that my cheerful birds-chirping alarm doesn't get it's snooze button whacked too many times. Nice nature sounds alarm, nice alarm, no harm intended . . .
Zzzz z z z z z . . .
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