Already, that first bluish light on the eastern sky is lifting the darkness that covers Mesta Park.
I like to watch the day open for business. One solitary car drives on nearby Walker Avenue. There are no birds yet. No squirrels. No dogs running up and down the fence. All of this will come later.
My day began at four-thirty this morning with my husband getting ready for his Houston day trip. We both have full days, so an early start helps keep the day more spacious.
Tonight I’m bringing supper for my contemplative prayer group. Nothing difficult — just a little potato soup and chicken salad, that I will serve on those lovely French Saigon baguettes from the grocery store near my home. I have the night off from leading; it will be easier to prepare the physical food than serving in my normal role of writing and facilitating the evening’s prayer meditation.
The break creates space for my spiritual direction coursework. I’m contemplating my final project — a paper that I will present to my small group of fellow students and instructors. The topic, rather open, will allow me to pursue my own interests as they apply to the work of spiritual direction.
I shake my head in wonder that this three-year journey is almost over. The prayer practices, the Ignatius retreat and even this spiritual direction practicum year have all helped to open up my life, much like the day opens up before me. What business will arrive after the course work is over and my certificate is in hand?
For now, it is enough to rejoice in knowing that light has washed away some of my former darkness. I will end my three-year journey better acquainted with myself and an Everyday God — such knowledge allows me to be more accepting of faults and brokenness — by own and others. I notice that I also exercise greater patience, and though I still keep busy days, I no longer try to stuff 10 pounds of life into a five-pound day — now I’m down to six pounds. Maybe in time, it will be only four.
I am better at waiting in the dark unknown for the light and answers to come. Even now, I look out my window and the day is here. Walker Avenue is busy with cars. And the wind is shaking the leaves of that old Magnolia tree to wake it up for business. The birds are out, for I hear their sweet chirps. And somewhere out there, hidden behind the Magnolia leaves, is a squirrel or two beginning their day.
It’s time to wake up three sleepy-head dogs.