Morning quiet

The morning is quiet. It is after the house empties of a husband and two teenagers, before baby girl awakes and the business of wiping a snotty nose, cleaning a chapped bottom and sopping up milk spills begins. It is before sewing projects, preparing meals, going to dr. appointments, meetings friends and trying to remember where exactly I last set down my iphone. I should get up every morning this early, to sit in the stillness of a cooling September morning, sipping coffee and feeling sweet baby boy moving in my belly. Twenty-one weeks today. He is healthy and strong the doctor says. His sweet sonogram pictures hangs above my side of the bed so its the first thing I see when I wake every morning. He seems sleepy himself this morning; only faint stirrings.
Thousands of small pieces of cut grass lie across the back porch, evidence of my husband's weed hacking adventure yesterday evening. The aroma of nature clings to papa-sun chair I sit curled up in. The distant rhythms of highway 351 rumbles in the distance and an off beat chorus of various birds awaking to the morning sun bounces through the neighborhood trees. I wonder what it feels like to be completely silent, still and tranquil. What is the meaning of quiet? How does one truly sit in the stillness? It says that the Lord came not in the storm or the fire, but in a whisper on the wind...in the stillness. But how does one get to that stillness, that place of utter calm. Positioning oneself? Meditating on His presence? Asking? Or does one just simply sit and wait...resting in the tension of expectation and hope?

The weather is cooler this morning than yesterday, settling in around my thoughts, creeping in around my attitudes and desires, pulling at the memories of my heart, reminding me of the Creator's ever consistent creation. Seasons slip into seasons, with ease, with grace, with joy. Creation heralds each season with the calm, assured confidence that life has a goodness about it, an order, a peace.