Morning Stillness: Let the Light Find You

Notice the soles of your feet resting flat against the floor, right where you are. Good morning, baby. The porch light is still throwing a little circle of gold across the boards, and my coffee mug is warming up my hands. Last time we sat here, we talked about trusting that you are exactly where you need to be.

Today, let the morning meet you right in this chair. Hmm-mm-mm… Feel the air move cool against your face, and let the rest of your skin register whatever room you're sitting in. Now, breathe in slow through your nose. And let it go through an open mouth. Mmm-mm. Again, take in that cool, clean air. And pour it out into the quiet.

There's no hurry in your lungs this morning. They know how to fill up, and they know how to empty out. Feel your chest rise up toward the light, and feel it drop back down. When you're the one leading the choir, you learn real fast that nobody can sing if their ribs are clenched tight like a fist. The music only comes when you give the air some room.

Mm-hm. So let the breath drop all the way down into your belly. Let it widen you, and then let it slip away. Let your jaw unhinge just a fraction. Smooth out the skin across your forehead, right between your eyebrows where the worry lines like to gather before the sun even clears the tree line. Drop your shoulders two inches away from your ears.

They have been holding on tight, carrying things nobody even asked you to carry. Let the heavy cloth of your shirt rest loose against your neck. Feel the weight of your hands resting in your lap. Notice the warmth in the palms, the fingers curled loose and empty, not reaching for a pen or a phone or a single chore.

Let your hips sink down heavy into whatever is holding you up. The wood or the cushion has got you. It won't fail. Release the tight muscles in your thighs, down past your knees, all the way to your ankles. Every muscle resting down into the bone. There is a sweet word in the book of Zechariah, chapter four, verse ten, and it asks a very plain question: Who has despised the day of small things?

Who has despised the day of small things? Sit with that a minute, sugar. The world wants you to believe that if you don't turn the earth upside down before noon, the hours don't count for much. We get taught to run after the thunder and the big shout, thinking our worth is tied to how much noise we can make or how many fires we can put out.

Hmm-mm-mm… Mm-hm. But some days are just plain cloth. A plain cup of chicory, a floor that needs sweeping, a robin tilting its head on the porch rail waiting on a crumb. A day where nothing grand happens is not an empty day, baby. It is holy ground all on its own. You don't need a trumpet to prove you're alive. The quiet life humming in your veins is plenty of music for one morning.

Rest in that space behind your eyes. No memories to turn over. No tomorrow to borrow trouble from. Just the still, deep well of this very second. Listen to the silence humming under the morning sounds. You are rooted deep down. Unshakable, because you're not trying to be anything other than what you are right here on this floorboards.

Let your fingers move a tiny bit against your lap. Take in one more deep, slow breath of this Memphis morning air, and let it spill out soft. Go on, now, and let the day meet you kind. It already loves you just the way you are.