I woke this morning in the bedroom of my parents house in the room that was mine growing up. It's the first time in probably 30 years that I have slept in that bedroom. How quickly the memories come of waking to the sound of my Father's voice telling me it is time to get up. But now, I am the one waking in the wee hours of the morning, moving about the house in silence so that everyone else can sleep.
While I drink my morning tea, I watch the morning light creep over the hill and light up the spring grass and set the daffodils and redbud glowing with light. The song of the robin fills the air. The red fox that lives nearby is out making his or her early morning rounds and the squirrels at the birdfeeders quickly move to higher territory. I love this time of day when the world is waking as the blanket of night is drawn away.
This is a bitter-sweet day. I'll be seeing all my kids for the first time in almost a year and a half, but it will be at a funeral for my ex-father in law who passed away after a long illness earlier this week. So my joy at seeing them will be tempered by sadness.
My joy is also tempered by knowing that my middle son, the Marine, will soon be shipping off to Iraq. My mother's heart is anxious for him, but in my spritual heart, I know that God holds him in the palm of his hand. Whether in life or in death, I know that God will care for him even more than I and that should sadness come my way, he will give me what strength I need to bear it. So daily, I lift my son to God in prayer and let my worries subside. God is my strength and my shield. In him will I trust.