Today, I slept in until noon and cuddled with my little puppy only leaving when I decided I needed some tea. As the kettle boiled, I came back and just watched the silence of my room, the dust dancing in the curtain light.

It’s not always going to be this way. A day is coming when I will share my tiny bed with more than a furry friend, when someone else might might make me coffee by mistake, or when I’ll have little grabby hands pointing out the window telling me winter is here. It could happen in six weeks, five months, or eight years and that scares me. But only for the selfish reason of not wanting to be responsible for anothers heart, sometimes I want lazy Wednesday mornings.

But here’s the hope: Maybe my future will wake up at nine to go to work and not even attempt to stir me. They will know I was up all night writing again, my inky hands are bad liars. They will make the green tea in silence and leave it on the nightstand like a forehead kiss. Maybe my babies will inherit the need for snuggles and good morning stories. Maybe they might even sleep later than me.

My bed will not always be a solo sanctuary and I am learning to see the promise in that. Because in the end, what is a church without disciples?


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