Yesterday the beauty of early dawn/ came over me, and I wondered who// my heart would reach toward. Then/ this morning again, and you. Who// am I? Wind and fire and watery/ ground move me mightily because// they’re pregnant with love, love/ pregnant with God. These are the// early morning generations I praise.

Rumi

Today is morning. Mornings are worthy of praise. They possess the history of generations, the memory of lessons learned, and possibility of new life. Not simply a blank slate, but rather grace wrapped in sunshine. Love planted in rich soil. A choice offered by each sunrise. Eyes open. Breath taken. Forward motion.

That being said, I am a reluctant fan of mornings. My heart is in the right place, but my feet often stay in bed until the last minute. I want to be part of the early risers club. I want to use that “power hour.” I want to see the sunrise while gently greeting the day. I want all that romance. Maybe I’ll start slowly? Try it for a few weeks? Get into the swing at a gentle pace? Maybe I will even make the bed? Today is important enough to love mornings with my full heart.

Thinking broadly, new years and new political administrations always feel like mornings –– like a dawn, a restart, a refresh, a reboot. Not wanting the pressure of resolutions, false starts, and possible doom, I clear my mind, start a new calendar, and lay out a plan. That feels more doable. Free of the weight of myself and generations. Right now. Today. This morning feels like it can hold the weight of generations and honor who we are and who we must become.