Take Yourself on a Morning Walk
Some moments from a morning walk in Nashville.
I didn’t want to get up at all. I kept telling myself “I’ll sleep for another hour or so and then get up.” But then the next thing I knew, my feet were on the ground beside the bed and ready to go.
When I got to my car, the streets were empty and the sky was turning from navy to blush. I drove to a spot I had never been to before (with a recommendation from a friend) and parked. No one else was on the trail. I grabbed my cameras, my jacket, and my pocket knife. As I stuffed everything into the pockets in my jacket, I started to walk through the faded and foggy forest.
Whispers of the world awakening walked with me. Drops of dew falling from the leaves on the trees above me and the good morning calls of the bugs below me. As soon as I hear a fish flop in the stream, I turned a corner and saw reflections of tree tops and birds flying through the sky. When I found a post to sit on for a minute, I emptied my pockets and watched the water lead the fog, birds find their friends in the middle of the lake, and the color of the sky paint everything around with its own color.
Take yourself on a morning walk.
Rising before the sun; you become accustomed to the dark and light. You find peace in the slumber of the world, of life, before the gray turns into navy, to the darkest green. All before you can even see the beginning of the sun as he awakens himself, and everything around him.
Never a selfish wake up call, rather a draw to be alive with creation.
The energy is brought gently, with the softest warm touch. Illuminating every hill, every barn, every tree and animal. The blanket of light mixes with the cover of transparent cloud lifting from the ground. When the two meet just above the roof of a home, every pale shade of blue, purple, pink, orange, and yellow turn into one. The sun, he rises a little more each minute, until his face touches yours with a patient glow. Almost like his hand gently reaches for your cheek and rests it against his. Before long, his arm wraps around your back to bring you so close, you can hear his heart with the birds’ morning song, the hen’s mellow ‘hello’, and through the trees waving in the morning breath.
The finale of this morning routine: reaching His hand out and pulling you up, steady, and out for the day. When you see that dark painting of yourself on the dew covered grass, that’s when you know He’s ready for you to go, to live, to shine. When your shadow appears, you know you’re covered by His light, “Go, and live,” He says, “I’m right here.”
