Joy Comes With the Morning

Joy comes in the morning.

The thought comes to me this morning as I get out of bed and begin to move through my house opening everything up for the day. The shades. The windows. The fans in the windows. The water in the kettle. 

I keep saying to myself, "I know this quote. Where does it come from? It is a quote, right?"  I promise myself that I will look it up as soon as I finish with all my morning practices and connect with the outside world. 

I open my morning journal and begin to write.

Joy comes in the morning.

Could it be the fragrance of peaches in my kitchen? Or the vivid pink hydrangea blooms in the vase on my kitchen counter that remind me of the time I spent recently in my mother's garden? Or my still clear kitchen table? 

Or the trimmed parsley plant that is standing proud and tall in the sunshine on the windowsill next to my kitchen sink? Hadn't it seemed to be dying just a few days before, when I transplanted it from the vegetable garden at Mom's, where it was not doing well for lack of light? The tomato plants had overgrown it and it was failing to thrive. But here, after some pruning and time, everything has changed. 

Or the sunshine we are so fortunate to have? Or the birdsong? The early morning with no trace of power tools? The cherries waiting to be washed and held by my new pottery berry bowl? The sound of the painted glass chime hanging in the window? The one with the silver spirals and the tiny mirrors that reflect the light? 

Yes. All of it. 

Joy comes when we invite it. When we open to it. When we decide it's our choice. When we cultivate it. And maybe this all sounds a bit cheesy, but it is true. 

I find myself this morning writing again about joy. And there is a whole day ahead to cultivate it. It's free and open before me. What will it look like?

I hear the whisper of the water in the kettle, just before it boils. I feel the breeze from the fan in the window, cool because it is still early in the day.

I smell the fragrance of peaches and want to feel the juice running all over my hands before I taste the sweetness. I see the comfortable artifacts of home as I look around me.

Joy comes in the morning.

In the space between waking and the day's motion, I settle in to myself - my hair is loose and wild, the robe I wear is loose and open. It catches the breeze and lifts. Yes, there's breeze in my kitchen today.

The tea is steeping and I'm thinking about fruit. It's so abundant this time of year. And flowers - I'm thinking about flowers also. Fruit and flowers bring me joy. Walking through the desert brings me joy. Looking out my window at night to see the planet Mars shining orange and brilliant in the Eastern sky brings me joy. 

So much joy fills me up when I loose my eyes to see it and my voice to name it and my heart to embrace it. 

Yes. Loose. For in joy I am unbound.







The Summer of Self-Love is a daily writing practice created to harness three months for thriving. The goal at the end is to host a dinner party. Sounds like an odd Hero's Journey, doesn't it? Most of them usually are.


And that quote - it is actually "Joy comes with the morning," from Psalm 30. "Weeping may linger through the night, but joy comes with the morning." For me, though, there is a sense of joy being part of the fabric of the morning. It is IN it as well as coming WITH it. Perhaps it is the same thing. Perhaps not. Doesn't matter, really. Joy is.