I’m  not a morning person.

Most days I wish I could sleep in, and in fact, plan my days accordingly.  Any extra bit of morning snooze that is possible gets done.

But there’s something about a Saturday morning when the rest of the world is still sleeping and the little white dog begins his morning ritual of climbing all over the bed with his little tail wagging getting as close to my face as he dares and then softly gently whimpers. It’s the kind of wake up call that is sweet.  I roll over trying to fake sleep and the big golden jumps up and finds a spot to slip his wet cold  nose under my hand as if to say “come on mom let’s get up.”

Mornings like these are special.  It feels like the world is a whisper, the chaos is calm, the stress is silent, and life is lenient. I savor this time.

Bleary eyed, the dogs are fed, coffee is brewed, recliner beckons, my Jesus Calling book is opened to the day’s reading, and I feel blessed by the peace and quiet of this weekend morning.

All the turmoil of thoughts about responsibilities and obligations is nonexistent. There’s not room for any of that this morning.  It’s as if time has slowed to a crawl and for these few moments I can rest and all is good.