Morning and Evening

     It's morning and Jay has just quietly left the bedroom to head downstairs. The house is silent and dark. The bed is comfy and warm and I pull the covers up higher, hoping that somehow I can put off the morning. The dog is snoring gently and warming my feet. I hear the coffee grinder and soon the aroma of coffee floats upstairs.  The front door opens as Jay gets the paper.  Now I hear him unloading the dishwasher. In the room next door, I hear the baby cooing and singing her wake-up song.  Soon I hear the 7 year-old letting down the side of the crib to get her baby sister and put her in the big girl bed for some snuggle time. They are giggling and talking and singing. This time of day is so sweet and precious to me. It's true, my husband does spoil me by letting me laze in bed for a few minutes.  But he also knows what lies ahead of me for the day: mountains of laundry, school lessons that tax my brain, children that will fight and misbehave, meals to be prepared and the kitchen to be constantly cleaned, and teenagers that want to talk late into the night.  And so he lets me stay in bed for a few moments, enjoying the calm before the storm.
     The shower is running in the kids' bathroom, the little girls are getting out of bed, the 4 year-old is thumping down the stairs in search of Dad. The house is waking up! I can't put it off any longer, I must get my day started. By the time I am out of the shower and dressed, I can hear Jay sitting out in the hallway, reading a devotional to the kids. Some are still asleep, some are just still in bed, and the baby is running into everyone's rooms and babbling and getting in and out of daddy's lap. Jay finishes reading and has to get ready to go to work, and so must I. I head down to the kitchen, where coffee and the newspaper are waiting. The baby follows soon after, and then the rest of the little ones troop downstairs in search of breakfast. And before I know it, the peaceful, dark morning has turned into one of light and energy and life, and warmth of a different kind than the one I find under the covers.  The kitchen is full of people and activity and voices! But those peaceful, early-morning moments enable me to see to the children's needs, all because my husband saw to my needs first.
     And so I can not but help to think of him through the day, thinking of ways to help him or encourage him, thinking of when he will be home for the night, tired and hungry and wanting to be embraced by his home. I serve him his dinner, listen to how his day went, report to him about my day. And then it's 11 o'clock already, and I am in bed, listening to the house fall asleep. The house is silent and dark, and the bed is comfy and warm. Pulling the covers up high, I am grateful for another day, grateful for the noise but also grateful for the quiet, and looking forward to tomorrow.