Seventh day of New Year. Outside, it's Winter. Barren trees stand. Frozen sentries waiting for first bud of Spring to appear. Tiny woodland creatures scurry searching for morsels. Doors and windows shield from cold. We wait.
Winter is abhorred. Cold and I disagree. Cold hands, warm heart, if that be true, I win.
Earlier, I rose. Sliding out of bed, I felt for glasses. Pulling on warmth, I dig into the Word. Hungry, I feast on manna.
Quiet shattered. Doors open. Showers run. Coffee perks. They awake. It's a new day.
Hubby sits. TV on. Preaching begins. Winter mornings dictate activities. Today is time for introspection and reflection. Sundays seem holier, but should never be. In Him, we live, and move and have our being...all days, all times. Always. A new day. A gift for the taking.
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