Mornings like this one are not the norm.
Usually I drag my butt out of bed at 6ish – having mashed the snooze button a couple too many times – and get my oldest son off to school. Then, after spending some frantic moments cramming both a nutritionally inadequate breakfast and revisiting the assigned reading from An Introduction to Elementary Logic by Wilfred Hodges, there’s barely enough time to pack the bag, kiss the wife, and drive to class. Such manic mornings lead to depressing days that move from this thing that must be done – now – to that thing that’s been waiting since last week to get accomplished.
This morning there was no need to rush. There were no big events on the agenda and no pressing reason to rush into anything.
And it felt good.
My wife and I had the sort of conversation that can only happen on mornings like this. I could think deep thoughts, formulate complete, substantial sentences, and convey them with meaning and heart. More important, there was time to listen to my wife, to really hear her out and get a feel for what it’s like in her world.
I have tried to live by this advice and put it into practice during my nearly sixteen years of marriage. But as with all things that matter, it’s easier said than done. The trick is to make the time to be intimate in the myriad of ways the word entails. One aspect of intimacy is letting go of the demands of life and spending time interacting in ways that go beyond mere contact.
This is where I am this morning, and it’s a beautiful place in which to dwell.