I always thought this was metaphorical. You know, like, sorrow resides in the eleventh hour of your life, and joy comes in the morning. But this morning, I feel its literal meaning.
When I came home from the hospital with Ellie, feeling incredibly overtired, overwhelmed, and every other “over” you could think of, my mom shared this little piece of wisdom with me. I was not the best infant apparently, (hard to believe, yes?) and never slept. My mom said that instead of getting frustrated, depressed and even more tired in the attempt of getting me to sleep she would repeat to herself, “The morning will always come and it will be a new day”. I never knew at the time how much that little sentence would help me, or how often I would utter it myself as I paced about the nursery with a cranky infant at 3 a.m. Joy does come in the morning. It’s the promise of a new day.
Ellie has slept four nights out of seven this week. That’s more than she’s slept in over two months. We were able to pay our mortgage again this month, on one salary when only five days ago, it didn’t seem possible. Our car was fixed and blessings from family members enabled us to pay the bill. We had dinner last night with folks we’ll be getting to know over the next few months. It’s cold out. I love when it’s cold out. So does my kid. She’s a New England baby. I knew she would be. Her head’s the perfect shape for hats.
God’s promises have a different clarity in the morning, when the sun’s coming up. I hope this Friday as you clear your windshield of frost, you’re able to take a second and take the joy freely offered in the morning. Maybe a large coffee would help. Stop on your way to work. It’s Friday, after all.