{before the sun}

God speaks to me in colors. Subtle shades share their secrets; intense inks keenly reach into my soul.  I can feel their presence.  Moreover, I can hear the stories they tell. Rich with desires deep.  Pale lying in wait for the potential permeating glow.  Still in solemnity, pastels swirl with ones much like the other melding tranquility and finding center.  My insides are better because of their place in my world.

I woke up to 37 early.  Well before the sun and my alarm clock.  It was a resolute awakening from a slumber on the surface of me. No glitter pops or fancy heels were in my future.  No hoopty-hoops and holla-atchus either.  I woke with a clarity magnified by a sweet peace on my day of me.

His breathes were so sound and serene amid the wee hours.  I took the time to press in against him only to find warmth and my favorite spot for snuggling.  Right underneath his ear lobe and a little before his jaw line.  My nose knows the spot. Deep in a world of dreams, he was unbeknownst and  bothered none by my invasion of him.  I was careful to pull the covers close around his broad shoulders only to slide out from the bounds of the place I share with my husband.

Routine knows the way around a 37 year old.  They have an established history of friendship together you see.  It seems their camaraderie manifested oh about year 33.  Nighttime regimens like lip balm of the specific brand, wrinkle cream slathered, reading before bed, checking the weather and coffee pots programmed all fit right nicely with multi-vitamins, reading glasses, bi-weekly grocery trips, favorite fabric softeners and bill paying day. It was no surprise that I maneuvered with ease into my clothing and perfected my dental hygiene all in a bathroom of darkness.  Thirty-seven has a way of just knowing the proximity and placement of everything.

I sidled into a cold car and was off at an early pace.  On my agenda before full-on day break was a grocery store trip, a 4 gallon Weigel's milk stop along with a gasoline investment and a 3 mile run at that.  My morning was still and in motion.  My mind worked methodically and with a continuous melody too. 

And, behold, there were gifts. For me. Each one wrapped in kindness and given to me by strangers.  A lady dressed head-to-toe in a neon green public works uniform at Weigel's held the door for me as I left laden with 4 gallons of milk with just 2 hands for holding. A man lying flat on the floor still in full pursuit of hefty shelf stocking at Wal-Mart took the time to ask me if I needed any help once he spotted my quizzical look of wherethehellisthewheatgerm.  With a bright gladness, his tired eyes guided me to the next row over only reach to the back of the top shelf for me and place into my hands the desired product.  A multitude of goodmornings and howareyous.  Eye contact and smiles found me head on.  It's as if God was saying, "I love you, dear one.  Welcome into your 37th year on My calendar."  With each face I met, I said a silent prayer of thanksgiving for the simple goodness spread in a world capsizing all too quickly to hate and hurry.  

She was rushed.  I watched as her eyes met her watch at least 3 times in a matter of 2 minutes. In her son's hand was a carousel of bakery made cupcakes.  In hers, a box of Capri-Suns.  I knew today was just as much his as it was mine.  Beyond the wrinkled forehead and stress filled eyes, this Mama's heart knew that today he deserved to celebrate.  A mother's love will fight time and push around boundaries for their little one.  I knew the check-out line accumulated was not in her budget of minutes.  

It was as if I was outside of myself as I watched them from behind me.  Her foot tapping.  His happy transfixed gaze with pride filled eyes at each hexagon shaped sprinkle scattered atop the tiny cupcakes through the plastic container's view.  Her shift to and fro of the Capri-Sun cardboard box's weight. I operated on His time.  "Happy Birthday, man!"  I said.  His smile exploded from his face as if to say, "How did you know?"  Her smile was there briefly but faded quickly as she loitered on the noted boisterous basket of groceries I had in a procured state in front of them in line.  I reached out to pat him on the shoulder leaving my buggy ahead and abandoned for I, too, was in queue for the next active customer status.  

Today was his 8th birthday.  He loved Legos.  He couldn't wait as this was his last day of school before Spring Break.  They were watching a movie that afternoon in school and he was bringing cupcakes and Capri-Suns to celebrate his birthday with his classmates.  As his excitement filled my ear's space, I watched for an abbreviated moment as his Mama melted into his magical.  Her face forgot about time and for just a tiny bit, she remembered exactly why she was in this line.  For him.  Yes, for Him.

My heart catapulted out of my chest with joy for this little 8 year old boy and his Mama.  A Mama who was reminded of the good she has within, better yet, for the good she is giving out to the hands and feet she gave life to a mere 8 years ago on this day.  With a warm spacious energy, I found my hand on her shoulder congratulating her for the 8 year old masterpiece that belonged to her.  She thanked me kindly with a glow that only a mother can emit.  

With that, I moved ahead to my space in line and in my completely offhanded, energy driven "Meghan Fashion", I began to make the sound that trucks make when backing up.  

"BEEP.  BEEP.  BEEP.  BEEP."

"In honor of one wonderful Mama and her birthday boy, I give you my space in line." I announced.  Relief filled in the wrinkled spaces of her forehead.  "Oh, thank you!  Are you sure?" immediately were the words expelled from her being.  I insisted.  The little boy never took his eyes of the hexagon shaped sprinkles.  The cashier actually had to use the scanner gun to ring them up as he asked to keep them in his hands.  

Off they went. 

Their day beginning before the sun.  

On my way home, I opted for the sunroof open.  It was crisp.  Quite the acute form of cold for the second official day of Spring.  I won't forget my hair whipping loosely in the wind that flapped downward into my interior console.  My sweatsuit felt warm and snuggly against my skin.  My fingers were tapping some off beat rhythm I had no recollection of. But, they tapped on just the same.  I could smell my moisturizer on my face as it wasn't even a full hour old from being applied.  Its smell wrapped over me.  It gave me a feeling of completeness I really can't explain.  

On a back road in our small rural sorta-new-to-us tiny town, I topped a hill, and He smiled at me. Tears streamlined down my soft cheeks of 37 as I opened yet another gift.  My car slowed to a stop.  I grabbed my phone and took the above picture as my heart had every right to open this one with each single paper tear.  

God speaks to me in colors. Subtle shades share their secrets; intense inks keenly reach into my soul.  I can feel their presence.  Moreover, I can hear the stories they tell. Rich with desires deep.  Pale lying in wait for the potential permeating glow.  Still in solemnity, pastels swirl with ones much like the other melding tranquility and finding center.  My insides are better because of their place in my world.

Yes, routine may know the way around a 37 year old.  But, it seems the older routine and I get, there is  another One we are beginning to know our way around.  The potential glow of the One who wakes before the sun is one I am proud to call friend.   Blessed are the ones able to give and to receive. Thank you, God, for my colors.  For Your stories, too. A new year of life I do declare.

.mac