The roses are blooming, finally. A few days of sunshine and warm temperatures coaxed the buds into their pleasing burst. Randa and I relax in our lounge chairs, eating the scrambled eggs and toast she has prepared. I have gotten up earlier than usual this morning and so we have time for this privilege.
Just beyond the glass panels of the sun porch and along the curving rim of the retaining wall by the driveway, the pinks of blooms show bright against the dark green leaves. In the low light of dawn, their soft showing is pleasing and cheerful. Even this sitting in the cool morning somehow blends into the dew and flowers, stone planters and mulched beds.
There is something of peace and promise in unhurried conversation, in the slow bites of a light breakfast. I think this might be something like beginnings the Lord shared with his friends when the crowds of the previous day were gone. Alone in the mist of the morning beside the lake, their early stirring must have brought simple words of welcome to one another’s risings. I doubt that he was always first awake; sometimes, greater faith is the key to better rest. Whether first or last, I’m sure that he pleasured in those quiet conversations with those he loved.
It is a pleasure that I believe he still welcomes, whether early or late in the day.