never feels more comfortable than three minutes before my alarm goes off.
The sheets are the perfect temperature. My body has conformed itself perfectly to the mattress.
The room is quiet.
I’ll lie there, in the 8 minutes between snoozes, wondering why I would ever climb out of this womb and into the harsh day.
Somehow, I force myself to stand up. The day begins.
Later, I hit
If I could live in the shower, I would. Warm water in a closed, safe environment. Frequently the length of my shower is determined by how long the hot water lasts. I give birth to most of my ideas in the shower. Another womb, that I hate to leave.
Somehow, I dry myself off.
I climb into
It’s messy, but it’s mine.
That 30 minute commute is me time. I listen to books on tape. I think. Sometimes I pray.
I may be traveling 75 mph, but inside my car, I’m cozy. Comfortable.
I pull into the parking lot and take a deep breath. Yet again, another womb I hate to leave.
I step into
It’s a nice office, with a desk and a table and a closet.
It’s about as messy as my car, but it’s mine.
I plop down in my chair and check my e-mail. I feel at home here.
But I can’t stay in this womb, either. I have meetings to attend, events to plan, visits to make.
So I step out onto the street, and make my way downtown.
Out, finally, into
It’s cold today.
There’s no buffer between me and everybody and everything.
No separation between me and buildings and cars and trees.
And then I hear one tree in the parking lot across the street.
Its leaves rustle with the cool wind, and I am astounded to find myself
yet again in the presence of God.
And I remember:
The world is a womb.
What will God give birth to today?
Have a Great Week,