The Sacred Everyday

This morning I woke up to a miracle.

All of my children are still soundly sleeping in their beds, except for the baby, who came down early to snuggle.  Her head is fuzzy and soft like a little duck.  The house is dark.  And quiet.  There is no birdsong yet.  The hum of thought in the back of my mind has not yet been interrupted by small voices asking for breakfast.

I open my eyes.  And they see.

And it is a miracle.

I take a deep, solid breath of morning air.  I am alive.

In all of history, out of all the souls that have inhabited the bodies of people who have since been remembered or forever forgotten, today my heart is beating.

Today the rituals of motherhood have meaning.  This day is not about trying and failing to get something accomplished, pushing back my own desires to meet one need after the other all day long.  This day is about seeing the light reflected in the eyes of my living children.  It is about their hair, which we call red or brown, but is really a million different hidden colors that reveal themselves slowly through varying intensities of sunlight.  It is the unforgettable smell of a little baby.  It is the feeling of one hand lightly touching another.  This day is about the sound of voices–the absolute irreplaceability of the music that comes from each one.  It is about the words that rise up and fill this house full to the brim each day.  It is the taste of fresh baked muffins and coffee around a table with the people that I love most in this world.

Life is a gift.

I want to open it up and enjoy it today.

And I’d like to invite you to join me.

Welcome to the sacred everyday.

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