Morning | Chapter 2, Whispers

I don’t see my husband in the morning, he leaves before I get up. It’s a rhythm he’s adopted since becoming a father. He leaves early to get home to us early. Saturdays feel sacred because I get to drink my coffee with him. But on the mornings I don’t, on the days he leaves after I shuffle down the stairs, I have a rhythm of my own.

I reheat the coffee he’s already made in a brown mug. I always seem to pick the brown mug. I pull out my one line a day journal and retrace my steps from the day before. I think of all that happened and try to remember something.

As a stay at home mom who also works a little, my days often fold into each other. I’m a record on repeat. So remembering something doesn’t always feel easy.

But I desire to seek something meaningful. A bit of magic in a full moon, an unexpected encounter with a neighbor, or a really good cup of tea. I write down the first image that comes to mind and close the book.

I hold the mug in my hands, pull a blanket over my lap, and inhale the quiet.

Holding my mug reminds me of a simple truth I need each day — that I am held. That even as I attempt to carry so many things, even as the worry and anxiety of motherhood simmers beneath the surface, even as the loneliness of this season catches me by surprise — I hear a tender whisper: you are held.

So this image of being held while holding many things grounds me. I cup my hands around my mug to remember how it feels. To remember that the world spins on without me. To remember I am not in control. To remember I am small but also cherished and seen.

Waking before my son did not begin until he started sleeping through the night. I used to stumble out of bed and scoop him up to nurse. But now, I rise before his cries and words. This simple practice of waking early, holding my mug, writing a few words on paper, and sitting in silence (if my son will let me) sets the tone for my day. It helps me move through my responsibilities lightly and seek the wonder in the mundane.

It helps me have an ear turned up to the whispers of God.

And it allows me space to remember that even as I carry many roles, even as the weight of responsibility feels all consuming, even as the tasks pile high, even as I sit alone — I am cared for and seen and remembered.

I am held.

And friend, you are too.

Article by, Maeve Gerboth | Photo by, Purple Fern Photography