Good morning. And it is so good. I love mornings. I am one of THOSE people. The ones that snap awake before the sun even begins to rise. The ones who are alert and functional immediately upon opening our eyes. I know, we are obnoxious to those of you who prefer to sleep and not speak until the sun reaches midway in the sky. I’m happy and hyped up to start the day in the morning and don’t even need coffee or tea, though I do enjoy them.

For me, the dawn is a sign of beginnings. A fresh start. A clean slate, as it were. Though past actions always have consequences, the dawn brings everyone a promise and a gift of another chance. I’ve seen many a glorious sunset, and the Good Lord knows that the evening’s light can make a pretty show, especially on water, but for me, its always the dawn that sings to my soul. As a matter of fact, the title of this post is the title of one of my very favorite songs. I love the version by Cat Stevens, and though it may sound silly, I joined my church in part because that happened to be one of the hymns they sang on my first visit. I took it as a sign,

All of my life, I have been a daytime person. Though Mother said, upon occasion, that as an infant I tried her patience and attempted to switch my nights and days, as far back as my cognitive memory goes, my energy follows the sun. As the day wears on, I wear down. As a matter of fact, I’m as grumpy after 8 pm as some are before 8 am. I rarely will answer a text after that time unless it requires immediate action, and have always been a matinee movie sort of girl. I have asked my husband on more than one occasion why good music is so often played at venues when it is past my bedtime.

Even as a teenager, I wasn’t great at being a night owl. I remember many an evening riding around in a car with friends. You folks from small towns know what I mean. There’s nothing to do other than drive in circles, blasting music, and clustering in random parking lots, standing around tailgates or hoods, posturing in your best outfit, hoping to be seen by someone different than the same 20 people you saw every other weekend. I have always been less than completely social and that certainly didn’t improve as the evening went on. I was notorious for sitting in my friend’s passenger seat, locking the door, and napping until something exciting came along or it was curfew. (Incidentally, I learned to lock the door, because, teenagers, right?) And I promise you that while my friends were tolerant of my eccentricities, they also quite often used the opportunity to amuse themselves. I cannot tell you how many bare bottoms I saw, and sadly on at least one occasion, my repose was interrupted my window tapping, insane giggling, and I opened my eyes to ahem, male paraphernalia against the glass. Fear not, I wasn’t traumatized, but as I inherited my mother’s acid tongue, that young man may have questioned the appeal of his own personal nakedness for some time after.

I have had, over the years, several friends who are avowed night owls. Folks who can sit up through to the wee hours and still be perfectly cheerful and come up with many ideas of fun to be had. There were plenty of times I joined them in my youth. I’m going to be completely honest and admit that while some great fun was had, Mama was quite right when she said nothing I was getting up to after midnight was anything I SHOULD have been getting up to. This statement came as I was arguing the point for a later curfew since wee lived a good 25 minutes outside of town. Since I was at the height of my teenage hubris and had no damper between my brain and my mouth at the time, I popped off with, “ Mom, I assure you that I am doing the same things before dark as I am after.” That particular moment of genius served only to backfire immediately. She thinned her lips and her eyes narrowed, clear warning signs of doom in my mama, and guess who had to be home even earlier for a while until she learned to keep her smart mouth shut.

Dawn, for me, has always been the harbinger of the best times. Dawn is when I would hear my parents stir in the house. Coffee to be made, a cow to be milked, a wood stove to be stoked in winter, breakfast cooked, and then work or school. Dawn is Christmas morning gifts being opened quietly and enjoyed before the chaos of cousins. Dawn is Easter morning candy consumed unsupervised with gleeful abandon. Dawn is packing the car to go see family in Louisiana. Dawn was driving to Nashville to catch a flight to my only trip to Europe. Dawn is my aunts and mama drinking coffee and softly laughing on the porch, their time to bond and reminisce without all the kids around. Dawn is a spectacular light show to the soundtrack of birdsong, rooster crows and animals calling in the fields.

Recently, my oldest and I have begun to make it a more conscious habit of opening the curtains and the front door to witness more fully the changing of the light. We grab a cup of hot tea or coffee and quietly watch the colors shift from dark to light. Dark blackish blue gives way to streaks of gold, pink, and purple, that gradually fade away to a bright day sky. I built this house to face east just for that reason. I bless each morning, grateful for another day. You never know which one will be your last, so praise every dawn you see. Happy New Year, friends and family, I hope your future is as bright as the rays that peeped over these glorious hills of Tennessee this morning. Go forth and God Bless.