Every time our baby boy wakes, whether it is 6 in the morning, 2 in the afternoon, or 7:45 at night, if our two-year-old is nearby, she all but squeals with delight, “Good Mornin’ Baby!” She is thrilled that he is present with her, and she runs to him for hugs and kisses. This is so similar to how I’ve been interacting with God, though I am the one waking. He stretches himself into my space and I look up. I don’t necessarily squeal with delight at realizing he is with me, but it is a happy, contented sensation that seeps through all the distraction. In fact, this awakening component to my relationship with God has been so strong over the last few years that “Good Morning” almost became the title of this blog. When God enlightens me, when I remember that he is present, I cannot resist the urge to pray “Good morning, God,” no matter the hour. It used to seem silly at 11:00 at night, but it works for me. It is my hello, my acknowledgement of the Lord’s presence in my life.
I hand my baby boy his sister’s tiny toy zebra when he walks, Frankenstein’s monster-like, toward me.
“Ahng-oo,” he said, unprompted, for the first time ever.
I pray my own gratitude pours out that way, unprompted, in whatever language I can muster, as if for the first time ever, not because etiquette requires me to do so, but because in my humility I am truly grateful.
I took Beginning Drawing in college. Our professor told us to go outside, choose a stick from the ground, dip it in the ink well, and draw. To help us get past that nauseating, anxiety-ridden feeling of messing up a clean, pure white canvas with mistakes, he suggested we flick some ink on it right away and get it over with.
This is my ink spot.