Good morning, Wednesday. The week has a little dust on its shoulders by now, and the coffee is hot anyway. Look at the window: the gray is thinning, and somebody good is on the way.
"For his anger endureth but a moment; in his favour is life: weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning." — Psalm 30:5 (KJV)
This morning's prayer Father, I woke up with last night still clinging to me, the old worry, the sentence I wish I hadn't said. Hold it up beside your mercy and let me see the size of each. Your displeasure is a moment. Your favour is life, long as a summer road. So I'm setting the heavy thing down by the door. Joy is coming up the walk this morning, and I want my hands free to take it from Him. Open the curtains in me. Let me notice the light on the kettle, the bird on the fence, the face across the table. Thank you for mornings that keep their promises. Amen.
Today, on purpose:
Open one window or curtain and say thank you.
Forgive one small thing before lunch, and let it stay forgiven.
Tell someone tired that this morning is theirs too.