22 Because of the LORD's great love we are not consumed,
for his compassions never fail.
23 They are new every morning;
great is your faithfulness.
24 I say to myself, "The LORD is my portion;
therefore I will wait for him."
I awoke this morning to the sound of the chipper and loud voices of male and female morning show hosts on the radio on Paul's side of the bed. Where do these people come from who are so bright, so early? It was 6.15. It was Saturday.
I wondered why Paul wasn't turning off the radio. My sleepy mind adjusted to the rude awakening and I decided to get up. I realized later that Paul had slipped downstairs to the couch in the middle of the night. I was breathing loudly, he told me. Not snoring; breathing loudly.
It was a bonus to be up a little earlier. Actually getting out of bed is the hardest part, but once out, I am always grateful for the quiet of the morning and the gift of time.
It wasn't long before I had showered, dressed and I was pouring a second cup of coffee when Victoria appeared, tousled haired from downstairs, clad in soft blue pajamas and eyes still sleepy.
"Hi Omie," she said.
"Hi sweetheart," I answered, and asked if Tiffany-Amber was up yet.
"Yes, she's playing video games," Victoria replied.
"Well," I said, "I have a piece of music I want you to hear. I'll go and get the CD from my car."
With that, Victoria went downstairs to get her sister, while I stepped outside into the glorious morning sunshine, and started my car so that I could retrieve the CD from the player.
Soon the girls were seated in wing backed chairs in the big sunny back room, waiting. I carefully closed the pocket door between the big room and the room in which Paul still lay, on the couch.
The CD was one I'd borrowed from the library the week before, by Quartetto Gelato and the piece was called, "Russian Medley." I told the girls that when I hear a beautiful piece of music, I sometimes feel as if there is a string attached to my heart and someone is pulling it right out of my chest. Their eyes were intent, trying to understand this strange sensation that their grandmother was describing.
I started the music, and the strains of a violin sang sweet and slow and lilting and my heart began its familiar dance within my chest. The music gathered speed into a Russian dance and as it did we laughed and kicked our legs in the air, from our seats, arms folded like Cossack dancers.
I heard Paul stirring in the next room and soon, hair shooting out at odd angles and bleary eyed, he appeared in the kitchen, wondering where the music was coming from. One glance at his granddaughters though, and any thought of a grumble was gone. They have his heart securely in the palm of their hands.
Soon Brenda appeared, and later, Jay. Family phone calls completed our Saturday morning ritual of being together as family.
And so the household woke up this morning.
New every morning is the love
Our wakening and uprising prove;
Through sleep and darkness safely brought,
Restored to life and power and thought.
John Keble, (From the poem and hymn, New Every Morning is the Love)