Morning Help

The dove grey light of cloudy pre-dawn morning reached through the edges of the shaded windows. In the distance a train slugged along the track in that same light.

"What time is it?" I quickly peeked at the clock sitting on the large Mission-style footboard. I knew I didn't want to sleep away this last morning. If I hurried I would catch the sunrise.

I slid out from underneath the warmth of a shared bed, careful not to disturb the one who would prefer to sleep while he has the chance. Drawing on my slippers, donning my sweater, I carefully release the dead bolt on the heavy oak Craftsman door and scoot across the hall. The front bedroom window, I had discovered yesterday, affords a panoramic view of the Eastern sky.

I was rewarded with beauty. In one long continuous thick line, the charcoal grey silhouette of Adirondack foothills was slung across the horizon from edge to edge. The luminous pinks and salmons and peaches glimmered in metallic light reflected from and through mountains of clouds.

In the already busy foreground I viewed Highway 11, daily commuters on their way to a day of work. Did they see what I saw? Or was this view so common that their not quite awake eyes failed to see? Maybe they were already focused on the demands of the day, reviewing the list of things to do. Perhaps a difficult meeting was scheduled, or a child had been left sick in bed and the burden of finding alternate childcare was pressing in.

Then again, someone may have been looking to those same hills, remembering -- "... from whence comes my Help? My Help comes from the Lord, the maker of heaven and earth." Words of praise were flowing then, requests were made by hearts at rest, filled with the peace that passes all understanding. All was right with their world.

All is right with mine.