Saturday has no alarm clock, and here you are, awake anyway. The floor is cold, the window is gray going gold, and nobody needs anything from you yet. This is the quiet hour when a harp gets tuned.
"Awake up, my glory; awake, psaltery and harp: I myself will awake early." — Psalm 57:8 (KJV)
This morning's prayer Lord, the house is still and the floor is cold under my feet. Nobody asked me to be up. I'm up anyway, because you are here.
Take me in your hands like a harp left out overnight. Tighten what has gone slack. Ease what I've pulled too hard. Find the true note under my tiredness and hold it until I hear it too.
Then let this Saturday be played. The pancakes, the errands, the raked leaves, the phone call I've put off. Let each one ring a little with your music. I don't need a grand song. I only need to be in tune with you, and you will do the rest.
Thank you for the light on the kitchen wall. Amen.
Today, on purpose:
Sit quietly for one full minute before touching my phone.
Do one chore slowly, as if it were worship.
Make the call I've been avoiding, gently and kindly.