I am a morning person and my wife isn’t so my movement in the house about daylight could easily be confused with that of a thief, carefully placed steps, opening the cabinet door purposefully, taking a coffee cup with surgical precision so that it doesn’t touch another, and then placing it on the counter as if it might explode if handled roughly. One heaping spoon of Maxwell House is met with instant hot water and then as I very carefully stir the mixture avoiding the sides of the cup the hot water dispenser groans and gurgles to quickly replenish the supply of almost boiling hot water.

Once comfortably positioned in a rocker on the front porch, a nice long sip of hot java, and the morning sounds start to gently massage my whole being and I am delightfully at peace. The assortment of birds have been hard at their morning concert long before I take my seat in the audience. A distant owl adds his haunting hoots without fail every morning. A few times each week I hear a woodpecker having breakfast in a nearby tree. I wait….and am not disappointed, for the buzz of hummingbird wings and the almost squeaky chirp as they visit day lilies, hibiscus, roses, and the two feeders purposely positioned near my morning perch.

The distant drone of a truck over a mile away slowly fades as it labors toward Arkansas. Then, right on cue, every week day, I hear the squeak and rattle of a neighbor’s garage door slowly rising. A door closes, then another, and the garage door repeats its morning ritual with its unpleasant groans. As the neighbor’s van backs into the road the familiar crunching of tires against stones reminds me of how nice it will be when our road is paved. More compressed gravel sounds and one, then another, and then another vehicle takes it’s drivers to the paper mill in Bastrop, the university class room, the hospital office, and the community center in Monroe. I hear the whurr of all terrain tires slowing to a stop as one and then another of a parade of cars and trucks stop and then go off to daily duties down Highway 134.

Finally I hear tires against gravel again and the much anticipated “flop” as my newspaper hits the concrete at the end of my driveway. I hear a faint fluttering sound as the cool breeze toys with the corners of the paper in my lap and enjoy the tinkle of a slightly disturbed wind chime. I hear a distant dog greet his master as he does every morning when he comes out of the house and starts to the car. I can imagine from hearing the pitch of his bark that he is an unattractive, pudgy faced mutt, about 20 pounds, whose only purpose is to add to variety to my morning and make his owner’s yard look bad.

After the news is digested, the cup empty, and the thermometer rises, I come back inside and carefully place my coffee cup in the sink without a sound and then quietly walk a few steps to my office to check the Drudgereport and email. The only sounds are the clicking of the keys as answer email and the occasional sound of cool air flowing from the vent in the ceiling over my desk as the air conditioner faithfully works to offset a warming morning. Suddenly I hear the vibration of my cell phone as it moves slowly to the right on my oak desk as a call comes in. I reach for it frantically so I can open it before the loud ring starts at the end of about 4 vibration pulses. It is a reminder of a noon meeting at the office.

As I am about done at my desk I hear the familiar sigh of my sweet woman as she stretches and begins her agonizing routine of getting fully awake. I soon hear the banging of a cabinet door, the clainging of a coffee cup on a plexiglas cutting board, the unmistakeable sound of a spoon rotating in a cup of hot coffee and then the nicest voice I know says “You want to go outside with me?” “Sure” I reply “Let me get another cup of coffee and I’ll be right out”.

So it goes at my house most every day and I never tire of the morning sounds that greet me. I am thankful for another day God has given as a present to be enjoyed, a time for rejoicing and gladness. When I am reminded of those in our world who are greeted with the sound of gunfire, the cry of a hungry child, the siren of a police car, or the angry shouts unhappy parents it is a fresh reminder of how blessed I am. I’m 63 and if I live 20 or 30 more years I’ll never understand why in God’s providence He chose me to be so kind to. I am very, very grateful.

His peace,
Royce