My bed is a warm body with some soft pockets and slippery sheets. This morning the sheets smell like lavender, fresh washed. It is still so dark. My pillow hugs me close. I cuddle in the faux fur like a cub against her mama.
I hear, Won’t you get up? From the back of my throat a croaky, Oh no. Let me linger here in the dark a little longer. I turn into a fetal quarter moon and pull the covers right up to my nose. The folds of my beauty rest possess me.
I hear again. Come be in the Love of Christ. Come into the Light. I wait for you. The sandman weighed my lids with resistance. But molasses feet hasten to the floor. There is only one use for my body. He speaks. I hear. And hearing Him is everything.
In the bed, I sleep. In His word I am alive. I rise. I write. I rise.
