The summer mornings

"O LORD, in the morning you hear my voice; in the morning I plead my case to you, and watch." — Psalm 5:3

Something has shifted in the mornings and I cannot tell you exactly when it happened. A week ago the coffee was still a warm thing against a cool morning. This morning the coffee is the same temperature as the air and the house is already breathing summer through the screens.

I sat at the table with the windows open and the fan on low and the Bible in front of me, and the prayer this morning was not anything I planned. It was the kind of prayer that comes when the body is comfortable and the mind is not trying to get anywhere. I did not ask for anything. I did not bring anyone's name to the table. I sat and the morning was wide open in front of me and I let it be wide open.

Biscuit was on the porch. He has moved himself outside in the mornings now that the weather has turned, and I could hear him shifting on the boards, settling into the spot where the sun hits first. He does not need me to tell him what season it is. His body knows.

The garden is out there doing its work. I can see the tomato cages from the kitchen window and they look less ridiculous than they did two weeks ago. Things are growing. I do not need to stand over them this morning.

There is a particular mercy in a morning that does not ask anything of you. Some mornings are for effort and some mornings are for receiving, and this one is for receiving, and I am going to let it be what it is.

Ruby keeps a collection of prayers at her kitchen table. You can find them here.