“I’m here Lord,” I said through a yawn as I wrapped in a woolen blanket, clutched my cup of hot tea and sat outside on the second-story deck of our mountain condo.
I had awakened a few minutes before 6 a.m. in a mid-September morning. I looked at my husband and envied his ability to sleep. He was determined to get every bit of rest out of this vacation in Silverthorne, Colorado. I managed to find my robe and slippers, leave the bedroom in silence, make a cup of tea, drag a blanket behind me and go out onto the deck to await the sunrise.
I knew God had called me to this space before the day’s activity began. So as best I could, in my stupor-like posture, I tried to obey. The cool mountain air offered temptation to dismiss the inviting voice in my head as an auditory hallucination.
Instead, I stared at the starless sky and waited for dawn’s appearance. Like an expectant, albeit not fully awake, audience member I felt familiar expectation of a spectacular arrival. The black tea kicked my senses into gear and I heard the morning wake-up call of bluejays.
“I’m here, Lord,” I repeated as if He possibly missed the first announcement.
I waited. After several minutes the birds fell silent. In the still quiet, as the caffeine from the tea infused sleepy brain cells, I returned to the worries of recent weeks. So many things to think about. So many changes to my life. I questioned God, not for the first time, and asked Him to reveal His plans for my life. Again I confessed my confusion and fear silently while I mouthed the words, “I’m here, Lord.”
The light in the eastern sky grew in hues of grey, pink, mauve and orange. The shapes of trees emerged. After waiting a few more minutes, I came to the conclusion that I had gotten my spiritual signals crossed and could do my worrying inside, where it was warmer.
I stood and began to gather my empty tea cup and blanket when I heard it. At first it was almost inaudible. I stayed motionless and listened. There was the sound – a slight whisper of air. It was not a wind exactly, but definitely was more than a breeze.
I checked the Aspen trees, now beginning their morning bath in warming sunshine. I detected no movement. Still, I knew there was air moving-a lulling, softly rhythmic and intermittent presence. I could feel it, even if the trees did not.
I returned to my seat while repeating the words, “I’m here, Lord.”
In air devoid of sound other than the barely discernible air movement, I heard, “So am I daughter.”
Copyright September, 2016
Laura L. Padgett
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