Mornings

I have never been a morning person. Upon hearing my alarm clock, I've often told myself, I have absolutely no interest in getting up right now. My phone buzzes to remind me of the meeting I need to be at in fifteen minutes. But I'd rather be asleep.

Oddly, on the rare occasions I've gotten up earlier than strictly necessary, I like mornings. I like the feeling that I've discovered "extra" time and my day will be better because of it. I like the quietness and fresh new sunlight.

I made a haircut appointment for eight o'clock on Saturday morning (yesterday), to force myself to get up earlier than my normal weekend hour. After the haircut I went to Panera and bought a loaf of bread to bring home and a four-cheese soufflé for breakfast. I sat in my truck eating the flaky creation and watched a street market setting up across the parking lot.

Little treats like these make me want to be a morning person. To take that extra time to just BE.

Just being is what I think a quiet time should feel like. I would like to be that person who gets up early and reads the Bible with a cup of coffee and the whole day ahead. But instead I've been groggily grabbing my earbuds and listening to a couple worship songs with my eyes closed for a few more precious minutes.

At least I haven't fallen back to sleep yet. That's something.

Adventuring

I began seeing this image and line from The Hobbit movie all over Pinterest. And because I'm me, I started overthinking it. People want to "go on an adventure." But what does that mean? I hear myself and others applying the term adventure to a hike or a drive to an unfamiliar part of town. And something in me is dissatisfied. Are those really adventures? Why do I describe relatively safe and normal activities as adventures? It seems adventure means "anything out of my routine."

Consulting the dictionary yields these definitions of adventure: "an undertaking usually involving danger and unknown risks," "an exciting or remarkable experience," or maybe most telling, "to expose to danger or loss."

Danger and loss. Unknown risks. Bilbo is running jubilantly, if somewhat naively, towards them. He is swept away and into a larger story. I think this is what I want, or want to want, in an adventure. Sometimes I feel like I should devise some expedition for myself, that the story I'm living in is too small and I need to do something about it. There is probably some truth to that urge. I read an article on calling from Relevant recently that speaks to this:

So many people wait for their calling. They complain about their lives, lamenting that God hasn't shown them the path yet. Others live agnostically, as if everything depends on them. Neither of these is particularly fulfilling.

What does seem true is that we have a choice. Not to make our lives awesome or dull, but to choose to courageously follow the path ahead of us or not. At times, it will feel like everything is riding on you, but it's not. At others, it will feel as if you don't have to do any work and can just submit to the process; that is also not true.

I can't "make my life awesome" by manufacturing adventures. That smacks of pride and exhibition. Look at me, I'm cool! But neither should I be content with danger-free existence. Can I find a way to wait expectantly and courageously? To follow well the path that lies ahead, whether it fits my definitions of adventure or not? (And maybe I'll find, like Bilbo, that adventures are "Nasty disturbing uncomfortable things!")

Whatever comes, I'm pretty sure there will be an appropriate Tolkien quote. What would I do without him?