Mornings are my best time.
I have often marveled that no matter how early I wake up, as long as I am awake, great things feel possible and the world seems full of potential and joy.
But as the day grows long, verism spoils optimism.
Today, for example, I dragged myself out of bed and put myself into an ever-thinning speedo. I opened my latest devotion-journal and found comfort and encouragement from the TWO verses cued for today. Mind and heart renewed, and spirit full of great things to come, I drove to the pool to swim laps. All before 5 am.
Exercise energizes me. I am alive despite the exhaustion. So I go on. Once home, I cling to the morning coffee to carry me next. But as my coffee chills, so do the joys I meet in those silent predawn minutes.
As my coffee cools, the kids begin to pepper me with questions, and thoughts of the potential and the possible are replaced with the moment and the inevitable. Neither of those things is bad.
So what is it? Why does joy dwindle?
A verse pops out to me as I write. “…weeping may endure for a night but joy comes in the morning.”
I’m not sure if this speaks anything into my pondering or not. It certainly has the power to. I’m just not in the place to ponder.
Looking broad strokes over personality and experience, I will say that mornings have always been my time, but over the last five months as the pandemic has settled in, the taper of joy has more quickly gone out.
When you’re caught in the tangle of feeling one way while realizing the goodness around you, it is exponentially upsetting. Five very joy-filled children are skittering around the house. Hubby is home and settled in with the dog. The walls are beaming with new paint. The school room is cute and glowing, two little lamps changing florescent to florescent in calming flutters. The youngest is singing The Wheels on the Bus Go Round and Round.
How can I possibly have a gloomy mood or not find a joyful disposition on my face or heart?
So I take to my “pen” and ponder.
In this time of isolation and fewer face-to-face interactions, my mind misses something. I bridge and bandage with texts and calls and video chats. I form new friendships with people I have never met online. I stretch my voice over video platforms hoping for that kind of responsiveness that comes in coffee shops.
They all fall short.
My coffee is stone cold on my desk, where I last sipped on it 10 hours ago.
The little one now sings Twinkle Twinkle swaying side to side, fingers forming stars.
No answers rise up tonight.
Evenings are my toughest time.