I have been pondering the importance of living in the present moment, being attentive to where God is there. In this Sunday poem, James Crews explores the experience of a winter morning—which so many of us are facing this year—and being grateful for it.
Winter Morning
When I can no longer say thank you
for this new day and the waking into it,
for the cold scrape of the kitchen chair
and the ticking of the space heater blowing
orange as it warms the floor near m feet,
I know it is because I have been fooled again
by the selfish, unruly man that lives within me
and believe he only deserves safety
and comfort. But if I pause as I do now,
and watch the street lights outside winking
off one by one like old men closing their
cloudy eyes, if I listen to my tired neighbors
slamming car doors hard against the morning
an see the steaming coffee in their mugs
kissing their chapped lips as they sip and
exhale each of their worries white into
the icy air around their faces—then I can
remember this one life is a gift each of us
was handed and told to open: Untie the bow
and tear off the paper, look inside
and be grateful for whatever you find
even if it is only the scent of a tangerine
that lingers on the fingers long after
you’ve finished eating it.
James Crews
Witnesses to Hope 