“Faith is the bird that feels the light and sings when the dawn is still dark.”

– Rabindranath Tagore

Coming off of a long and stress-filled day and a shortened night of sleep, I awoke at 5:15 AM.  As I lay in my bed in the still, dark morning, I considered turning over with my pillow over my head and willing myself back to sleep.  For most people, this would be an easy thing, but I have always been an early riser.  It seems to be programmed in my DNA or something.  Unless I have a significant illness that slows my body, it seems that I am destined to hop out of bed, wide awake, long before the time when other folks’ alarms begin to ring and the snooze buttons are hit all over town.

I remember those early mornings from the days when I was a little child.  I would creep from my bed to the living room, curl up in a large, upholstered chair, and listen for the sounds that told me the rest of the family were waking up.  I would hear the door close to my parents’ bathroom and the water running in the sink as Mom brushed her teeth.  I could picture her in front of the mirror, running a brush through her hair and giving herself a glance before starting the day.  The door would open and close again, and soon the sound of Dad’s shower would begin.  Then Mom’s footsteps would come down the hall, becoming louder as she drew closer.  These sounds reassured me that another day had begun, that once again I would be cared for, that life was reliable and good and something to anticipate.  Soon the smell of scrambled eggs would fill the air as Mom cooked Dad’s favorite breakfast to send him on his way.  As the sun would rise, the sounds of morning would be replaced by a symphony of sensory music that heralded the beginning of a new day’s adventure.

Those days are long gone; but there were so many of them in my early years that I suppose I learned the benefit of hopping out of bed at that early time.  No longer do I listen for reassurance from my parents’ movements at the other end of the dark hallway.  I provide the assurance now, for myself and for the rest of my family, as the day begins.  I listen now for the early-morning songs of the birds; and when I hear them, my heart begins to beat with excitement.  It is true what Tagore says about being able to feel the Light before the sun peeks over the horizon.  The birds know it and so do I.  On the most stressful days, we know that the Light still shines, faithfully, even when all we can do is feel it.  Darkness is not the absence of Light, it is the opportunity to see it with our other senses and know that everything will be all right.  How could the birds not sing in anticipation of a new day?  How could I ever hope to turn over and will myself to miss this magical time?