It's not unlike any weekend morning I suppose, but this morning it is something of a cacophony as I stand at the kitchen sink and look out the window. Next door the neighbor's grass is getting cut (imagine the buzz of the mower); between the two houses across the street I can see through to the neighbor on the next street over washing his truck in his driveway; through the door between the kitchen and Ken's office I hear him rehearsing one of today's hymns that is giving him fits. And I'm thinking about mustard seeds and bushes and birds seeking sanctuary even as I watch a plethora of birds in our front yard pick at the ground and find sustenance.
Mornings are the time I tend to be the most reflective. The demands of the day haven't yet succeeded in crowding into the mellowness of my post-sleep mind, and the tender shoots of hope and encouragement manage to rise and shine amidst the debris of the previous day's disappointments and discouragements. These are precious moments for me that offer glimpses of dreams and crystaline days to which I can think back when the day falls apart or obstacles like boulders emerge in my path. These are talismans of faith that hold seeds of potential and bushes of promises delivered.
This morning all those sights and sounds compete for attention, but I am trying to think about seeds and bushes. And getting into the shower and keeping an eye on the puppy and making sure that there's something for breakfast so I don't head into worship on an empty stomach. Clearly my time for reflection this morning is too short for any one thought to take root and offer nourishment for the day, and perhaps that is the piece of clarity on which to reflect. For surely we have days as disjointed and noisy as this day is beginning, just as surely as we have days that are full of silence and emptiness, dense with meaning.
I can attribute this morning's unfocused chaos to hormones and laugh, and I can try to pull from that a metaphor of food for thought for those who will hear me preach 90 minutes from now. One thing is for certain. I will hand to God the dilemma of this day, the images and opportunities that are part of this mix and ask that it be blessed for homiletic delivery. And then I will trust the Spirit to empower me to deliver it. That process works every other time. I have no reason to doubt it will work today.