This morning I woke up in bed. Pre-dawn. I did not want to stir or speak. Like a cat… Maybe if I lie very very still, no one will know I’m here. My husband’s gentle Good Morning… twice. Sighhhh. I do actually have to get up, don’t I. He was already downstairs by the time I rolled over. And sleep started to wrap me up warm and tight again. THAT DOESN’T COUNT. Fine! I shuffled downstairs in my bathrobe to heat up the skillet for flapjacks and turn on the coffee maker. Grumble mumble.
Hours ago: Somewhere in Japan a woman wakes up on the floor. Her neck, back, and hips ache from trying to sleep night after night on a semi-hard makeshift mattress. The constant noise all around her wraps her up tight in longing: for privacy, for her closet, for the view outside her kitchen window, for a warm, quiet breakfast. This shelter is full of babies, workers, stressed-out, hollow-eyed parents, body odor…
Today I thank God for my house. It’s warm, private, comfortable, and safe. And it’s home. It’s full of our memories, even after barely a year of living here. We get to live in the midst of them, and enjoy the blessings of God. A house and a home. What more do I need?
Please forgive me, Lord, for taking your blessings for granted. And for my counterpart in Japan who wonders if she will have any semblance of home again, I ask for a sign of hope today. “He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty. … He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge.” Psalm 91:1,4