As I slide open the shades over the back door, brilliant light pours over the floor. The morning glory fills the room. I turn to my Bible, gliding over it's pages while a radiant Light pours over my soul. The Morning Glory fills my being.
Silence.
In the midst of clean laundry - some folded, some waiting to be touched by the worker's hands - and scattered toys - awaiting the joy of a child's touch - God has granted me this moment of peace. A sliver of time as thin and beautiful as the shard of green light slicing the couch cushion as sunlight bounces from a tiny disc of metallic garland - remnants of a celebration of our Savior's birth. For a mother suffering a slew of six-thirty wake-up cries and a son who returns to slumber as his sister stirs, this moment of calm, of silence, seems almost stolen. But a thief does not know this kind of rejuvenation. Restoration direct from the Source.
In a fleeting moment, the silence is broken. A tiny, yet forceful and feminine, voice cuts through the calm, singing the sweet song of innocence. A tune remembered, but words forgotten, filled with the melody of love she'll always know - "mommy" and "daddy" - words more beautiful to her - and to me - than the twinkling of a little star.
The quiet moment is over.
But the peace remains.
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