Morning Glow: Wake Up Slow

I have a secret pleasure--waking up slowly. It's my term for waking up without any alarm and without any need to rush out of bed. I love it. This might surprise you since I am a go getter with a productivity complex. But despite the fact that I'm not someone who has a difficult time waking up, and that I never press the snooze button (I didn't even know the purpose of said button until College), I love wasting time in bed. I get up when I need to get up, but when I don't NEED to get up, I sometimes just don't.

There's something about the stillness of morning air, the birds singing, the sun beams filling a room up with the radiance of light, and the recognition of my body wrapped in cotton sheets and fluffy down. It's my thinking time. It's my dreaming time. It's my planning time. It's my cuddle time. 

I wonder if this love of morning moments might have stemmed from the many mornings as a kid when I would sneak into my parents' bedroom and crawl in bed with my mom. We'd cuddle together and both fall back asleep. 

The romantic in me wants to believe that these morning moments are even better when shared with another person. That someone's head on this empty pillow and another pair of feet twisting in and out of the comforter might make these moments glimmer even more. The realist in me knows that sometimes people don't like to be cuddled, don't like to be washed over with another's body heat, don't like to be still when so much is calling them out and about, don't like to pillow talk, and don't wake up at the same time without an alarm clock. I realize that, more often than not, I might keep these morning moments to myself and for myself. 

But, there's just something about it. 

What Once Was Lost

I don't tend to lose things. I rarely misplace them. Honestly, I am that person who notices when something is slightly out of place. (Making it difficult for anyone to throw me a surprise party, or sneak into my room to borrow a shirt without my knowing). But, I've fallen into a strange pattern of losing things.

#1. My Driver's License: Fell out of my pocket trick or treating with my nephews. I was pretty certain it ended up in a kid's bag to be used as a play credit card.

#2. My Gold Pearl Necklace (given to me by my father): Placed in a storage bin before my Shakespearean Themed Birthday party, completely gone after it--I feared it accidentally made its way out with the trash.

#3. My Cell Phone: After texting an "I'm about to board the plane" text, my phone somehow stayed behind at the SLC airport while I traveled on to Chicago. If there is one place I don't expect to find a lost phone again, it is an airport.

#4 My Claddagh Ring: I never used to wear rings, but for the last few years, I have adopted the habit of wearing this ring nearly every day. It's my signature, my status, my conversation starter, my comfort, and my favorite ring. Ever since I was a little girl admiring my cousin's claddagh ring, I wanted one. During a trip to Jamestown, as a teenager, I finally found it. And I must say, after traveling through Ireland and Scotland, I can tell you that my claddagh is the best one out there. Hence, my complete sadness when I discovered that it wasn't on my finger the other day. I knew I'd put it on that morning, but had zero recollection of ever taking it off.


In each of these instances, I found myself cycling through puzzlement, determination, resignation, and restitution. There were fears: lost identity, lost memory, lost security, lost comfort. And there were questions: Is humanity inherently good? Are misplaced items actually lost? What part of the brain stores the memory of where I put that necklace? I reached out to everyone I could think of for help, to put our brains together, to unite our collective memories and find the objects. I prayed-- A lot. Prayed to be able to remember where I put that necklace, that if someone found my ID and my Phone that they might be a good person who would want to restore it to me. In the end, I always ended up at the place of resignation: the acceptance that things are things, that life would go on without even the seemingly important things, that I could replace my ID and Phone, that my father wasn't in a necklace, and that my identity wasn't in a ring. I'd go on without them.

But, then, all that was lost was returned.

#1. When I went to the DMV to apply for a new ID, someone had turned my old one in the day before.
#2. When I got up off my praying knees, I thought to check a hidden compartment in my purse. I had dumped that purse out before, but this time--the necklace was there.
#3. Someone found my phone and turned it in to the airport Lost and Found. My friend called in and made sure the phone stayed safely at the SLC baggage claim until I returned.
#4. My niece found my ring sitting by the couch where I had been napping the day before. I must have taken it off in my sleep, or just before I went to sleep.

I'm writing this post because I believe there's something I'm supposed to learn here. No, it's not that I won't lose anything, or that every time I pray to find something, I do. In fact, before I lost the Driver's License, I lost my house key while on a run. I prayed loudly to be able to find that and I never did. It is something else...something along the lines of recognizing what's important and what is not. Something about discovering that God knows where lost items are, but most importantly, he knows the whereabouts of each lost person. Something about learning to utilize my intellect, my assets, and fellow humans, to find those that are lost. Something about cherishing the lost and found, the second chances, and miracles. Something.