Morning has broken... like the first morning

Morning light is changing. The first flush of dawn is softer, pastel rather than bright and sharp, often wreathed in fog, the hills below wrapped in clouds with only the tops peeking through. As I sit and look out at the front pasture, there is a misty impressionistic edge to the trees and fields. The cool stillness of the early morning is a gentle blessing for all the hurry of the day to come. The horses and the donkeys run and kick up their heels when I let them out of the stalls, rejoicing in the beginning of the day.
Each season of the year has its own special flavor in the morning... spring crab apple sweet, summer marigold sharp, fall tangy apple sweet and sour, winter dry wine. The mornings of each of these seasons is different and like my children, there is no favorite, just differences. Fall mornings with their softer edges are preparing me for my time of remembrance. The sour pain of loss is sweetened by the joy of memories.
I love early morning time. As a mother responsible for getting the kids up, fed and off to their days, I lost my mornings to the business of living and family. Now that children are grown and gone, I wallow in the pure pleasure of watching and feeling another day come to be. Perhaps it has something to do with my allotment of days growing shorter as well as time for appreciation... whatever the reason, I am grateful for fall early mornings.
Not only does the quality of light change in autumn, but the days shorten as well. Even though the change has been coming gradually, there is always one day when I wake up and feel the difference. It is dark when I wake up and dark when I come home from eating supper with Mama. I have to gather the horses and donkeys up before I go down the hill because it is harder to round them up in the dark. Morning light comes more slowly and evening shade comes more quickly. The sunset light no longer lingers as a benediction on the hills. The lazy light of summer is gone.
I wonder what the first mornings were like. Was the dawn of all creation a spring, summer, fall or winter day? Or perhaps it was all of them with creation time taking all the seasons to accomplish. Creation does take time... time to consider and savor the possibilities as well as the outcome. I suspect God took a long time, perhaps many seasons, so the pleasure of creation could sustain him in the hard, lonely, angry days to come as her creation children tested the Love that brought them into being.
The wonderful old Christian hymn “Morning is Breaking” was written in 1922 by Eleanor Farjeon. I love the images of the first dewfall, the first sunrise, the first day. But it is in the living of all the days that follow the firsts, all the seasons of the years as they flow by in a river of time, that we can choose to live as God intended, in the fullness of time. The fullness of time... not just our favorite season, not just in the firsts, but in all our days and in all our ways of being... filled with the Love that knows no ending. And as we live the seasons of our lives loving the One who first loved us, our light changes just as the morning light changes. It becomes brighter, steadier, softer, sharper, and sweeter as our soul’s creation ripens in the fullness of God’s time.
Dearly Beloved Three in One, let me not lose sight of times passing in the scurrying around days of my life. Catch me up in the glory of the season’s light that I might see Thee more clearly as my time is drawing to a close. For those whose light is flickering, keep them close by so that they might feel the warmth and see the LoveLight that surrounds their days even in the midst of fear and distress. May it be so for all of your Morning Creation. Amen.