My Battle Comes With The Dawn

It’s iced water through a straw and the whirring click of a mechanical swing. It’s a baby snoozing and swaying to the tempo in a quiet corner of the living room.

It’s pens with cooperative ink, and stories with lots of pictures. A midnight wander to a mailbox wrapped in white roses and the pincher bug picnic inside it.

It’s preached by orange flyswatters hitting their mark and the whispers of a ceiling fans in July.

It’s the gifts I take for granted.

The weight of wonder we carry in our hand, in a day, in a minute? We often don’t see what we’re holding, focusing instead on the things that are missing; the vapors, the goals, the dreams.

Even babies can become routine.

I marvel at this, how the miracle becomes the burden at 2 a.m.

I march up and down the dark hall and by daybreak my tired head knows the truth: Thankfulness is a sacrifice.  I growl. I bury my head in soft pillows and rub my foot against the sheets, rebellious against the dawn. I’m a Morning Monster, angry about the sleep I lack.

Finally, I chose. Raising my head my feet touch the ground and I take the flame of sunrise, light a match of gratitude, and burn the have-nots and the want-so-muches until all that remains is the what-I-have, and it is enough. I tumble to my toothbrush.

My soul can barely whisper it, the Chosen Thank-You.

Thank you. For everything. 

It’s a murmur, it’s a choice, it’s the only way to see. It’s the only way to live.

#461-471 of my gratitude list

17 thoughts on “My Battle Comes With The Dawn

  1. Beautifully said – and bravo for the change of attitude. (Love your name – and thanks for coming by my blog and leaving a comment.) Hope the door closes softly on some dreams today, even during daylight.


  2. The weight of wonder…

    Girl if you're gonna go around all sleep-deprived, you really oughtta write a little less lovely. Maybe the sheer gift just powers its way through the fog.

    Please come paint fish with me. I would adore it.


  3. Your writing, when it's like this, just crushes me with its beauty.

    “Until all that remains is the what-I-have and it is enough.”

    Such extraordinary words that we would all be better if we lived by them.

    I try every day to thank God for all the little, beautiful things. My husband always has said I am the easiest person he knows to please. And truly, every day is just so full of grace and quiet simple wonders, how could anyone not find satisfaction in that?


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