Mornings feel sacred to me. First thing when eyes open and feet hit the ground from deep sleep, a choice is placed in front of you and you get to choose. The rush & riot of the busyness of life comes pounding on the door of the soul shouting, "move move move, go go go, now now now." The voices of the wild beasts prowl, push, and pull, fighting the voice that speaks Life, rest, peace.
Which voice will I choose? Will I allow the banging and brutal noises of loudness and busy fill my heart and pave the way?
Or will I choose the Healer of the hurrying, the good shepherd who speaks care and kindness, rest and refreshment deep into the crevices of my soul?
These mornings could be filled with the still, quiet moments in the midst of a hustling, hurting world. I read somewhere the question, "Doesn't all the hurrying hurt us?"
I feel and know this so deeply that, indeed, the hurrying hurts us, hurts me. I feel as if I have spent the past two years of my life buried in hurry. Jesus has been teaching me so much about slowness lately and true rest. Mornings have been infused with going back to the secret place with Jesus, diving deep into His truth and heart, and letting him penetrate my heart with His love.