When I lived with my parents, I knew that every morning I would smell the coffee brewing around 6am. If I rose early enough, I could count on walking into a softly lit living room where my mother and father would sit in their respective chairs, mug of coffee in one hand and pen in another, as they read scripture and journaled. I rarely, if ever, expressed this to them, but I found this to be such a comforting scene. When I left home for college, I, too, established a morning tradition of drinking my coffee while reading a Psalm or some passage of scripture. It wasn’t a heavy study, just part of my daily rising routine.
Years later, and many months of removing this routine from my priority list, I’m remembering how much I love having coffee, reading and journaling in the morning. There’s nothing magical about it, nor is it something that I feel any obligation to do, but it creates an atmosphere in my home and my head that expects good and beauty from the day. I’m remembering that no matter how much there is on my “to do list”, time spent resting and opening my thoughts to a fresh perspective is not wasted.