I have a particular affinity for Tuesday morning. They are a bright spot lying just outside of the chaos and taunting of Monday. I think that if I were to write, strictly stream of consciousness, for just 30 minutes on a Tuesday morning (kind of like now), I’d write a symphony of words and phrases that would lighten the heat of even the most indignant curmudgeon. Tuesday morning magic would fill my fingers and then my pen and then the eager eyes/minds of uninspired, faceless Facebook’ers. My Tuesday morning words would be clever and charming (because Tuesday mornings are clever and charming).
Tuesday morning coffee is much better than Monday’s coffee because I’ve finished mourning the weekend and there is a notable progress towards Wednesday which everyone knows means you are halfway to the weekend.
My Tuesday morning begins with only me to address, nurture, and admire. Thank you for this gift. This gift of me through Your eyes. Me without a coat of other’s paint and pretense.
Because I learned a long time ago that self-love is a daily practice, not a promise or reward tendered 20 years from now, for time served.
Monday night I look forward to the mirror on Tuesday morning. It confirms my persistence to keep chasing my purpose. Or catch up to it, rather.
Thanks for Tuesday, Lord. Amen.