The first light of morning seeps past my drapes, taps me right between the eyes, and I sigh. Soft, humid air cool with rain greets my skin past an open window where the earth has scenting the air with a pine and mossy cologne. Jays, grosbeaks, cowbirds and red-winged blackbirds call and chirp incessant songs from bird feeders packed with delectableness, eyeing red squirrels intent on joining them for breakfast. The winds have settled yet the sky still hangs low and spatters. Morning has broken.
At first, everything seems so well, so idyllic. Day breaks early in June and the grasses, flowers, trees and shrubs are blooming and greening and swelling with life, showy as we stroll with tea in hand to breathe and watch and renew in whatever moments we can before the hubbub of business begins once again. Boil the water, make the toast, crack the eggs, blend a shake, pet the dog, hug and hello’s. Let one hand follow the next and each well-versed task is a comforting monotony understood only those who love routine and find change as distasteful as a confrontation. And so it is with I.
It seems that I multitask through every moment. Life is, in fact, an act of love and care in constant motion. And each day we wake on this earth is a life-long exercise at keeping the entropy of chaos to a manageable state. Sometimes, I feel like all of life sits just below the horizon and sand is always, ever-trickling downward on us all. The unfaltering sift of tiny, tiny bits of crushed rock crystal that threatens to bury everything in this world; slowly, insidiously trying to make all of life into a sandy desert unless we keep up the ever-task of removing it, bucket by bucketful, every moment of every day until we die. And so it with humanity.
And the hiccups come. The hand that moves too quickly and knocks the fresh ground coffee all over the floor that initiates the OCD attempt to clean it then and there while still making the dog’s breakfast, cracking eggs, battling the blender, answering the phone, yelling something to someone-or-other, dryer on and switching off lights again and again all the while grinding teeth in time to the noise of kids and dogs and traffic and stomping because someone has gosh-darn-gone-done-did it again. Everything feels like a failed attempt at normalcy, life is a cosmic joke and all of a sudden, the chaotic hilarity of Mr. Bean’s life actually makes sense.
After all, life should not be mercurial, it should be more mellifluous — less unpredictable and more smooth, rich flow. To be okay with hiccups, and taking time to forgive. Hold off on a task to make room for a moment that is kind. Look someone in the eye for that full minute while they talk, and not interrupt. To stop multitasking and live in a moment of gratitude. Most of us want to live that way, you know — life that has smooth, rich flow. To wake at first-light with a sigh and a stretch, and calm thankfulness. I really think that God likes gratitude best. Gratitude and kindness. Because when we live thankful and justly, loving kindness and walking this earth humbly alongside our Creator, we live with real purpose.
When chaos hits my psyche like an ‘F’ word, it will be Forgive, Friendship and Favour. I choose Faith that runs deep and reaches Further, Farther and Faster than chaos can sift sand over my life. To live mellifluously so that when morning’s light awakes me, I feel that smooth, rich flow of fresh hope clear my mind, cleanse my thoughts and bring calm. I choose to live thankfully with Fortitude. Mr. Bean and me, living life mellifluously. And so it is.
