Let us remember that the life in which we ought to be interested is "daily" life. We can, each of us, only call the present time our own...Our Lord tells us to pray for today, and so He prevents us from tormenting ourselves about tomorrow. It is as if God were to say to us: "It is I who gives you this day and will also give you what you need for this day. It is I who makes the sun to rise. It is I who scatters the darkness of night and reveals to you the rays of the sun."~Gregory of Nyssa, On The Lord's Prayer (From The Quotidian Mysteries: Laundry, Liturgy And "Women's Work" by Kathleen Norris)

The black and white cup goes in the microwave. Hazelnut this morning, the strong brew that opens my nostrils. Inhaling the day. What will it look like?  I could call up negativity and fear, dread or apathy. Glower at the hours ahead. I don't want to. Can't afford those feelings, don't want to luxuriate in shame and staleness.

I rewrite the script as I pour cream in the ceramic cup. Rehearse what I know, what's real. I'm thankful, so grateful, for the art on my wall. The abstract beauty of the orange and green and umber reminds me of Noah's Ark--perhaps how things might have looked as the waters receded, the lavender sunrise spread over everything.

Noah and his family were "shut in" and safe. You, Lord, prepared a new world for them.

Today I'm "shut in" with You. Safe. You've prepared a day for me, a lambent pathway through the hours. You whisper, "Call up joy and expectancy in my faithfulness, my constancy. Trust my voice, my breath on your life. Buongiorno. Good Morning."