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The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you.
Don’t go back to sleep.
You must ask for what you really want.
Don’t go back to sleep.
~Rumi 

Every day this week I’ve woken at 6:08am. I remember Rumi and when my eyes flutter open, my soul echoes his words: “Don’t go back to sleep. You must ask for what you really want.”

I keep looking for the secret. I have a feeling it’s right in front of my face. I have a feeling the secret is in my body, inhabiting me. Waking up this morning, I listen intently to the morning. I don’t hear the breeze, but lying there, I hear my own heartbeat. I am alone. I am peaceful. The day has not yet told me where to go or what to do. In this moment at dawn, the secret is that there is peace in being alone. That the quiet that surrounds me is not forever.

I wear a necklace that says “Gratia gratis data.” Grace. Freely Given. And the secret that the dawn whispers to me is about grace. Grace, freely received. The past weeks have been hard. My emotional endurance has been tried. My heart has been stretched. My eyes are rough and scratchy from the tears. It’s easy to extend grace to the world around me, handing it out like flyers for the department store sale. It’s easy to be the one to show grace to others. It’s not as easy to receive it.

I had a phone call yesterday, and I bared my soul. I told my story. I shared my pain. I waited for grace. (The truth is, I have very little grace for myself at the end of the day…)

The voice on the other end of the phone waited, too. Then she spoke in measured words. She said, “You are enough right now. Grieving is hard. You don’t have to do this perfectly. There IS no perfect.” And as I listened, I heard grace coming to me. I still want to make a list of reasons I’m not eligible for grace – grace is for those who have tried their hardest and succeeded. Grace is for the strong ones, the ones who have it much worse than I do. Grace is for those who haven’t given up hope. Grace is for the ones who need it more than I.

At 6:08am, I think of the words: Grace, freely given. And the breeze at dawn replies: Grace. Freely received.

Even when I’m imperfect and I hurt people. Even when I’ve let go of hope and I’m headed down the rabbit hole. Even when I don’t know who or where I am, or where I’m headed. Even when I don’t think I deserve it.

At dawn I whisper what I want to the breeze. I’m afraid it might be too much, I might not deserve it, it might be more than the breeze at dawn can handle. I think of whispering ‘strength’, or ‘wisdom’, or ‘patience’… but instead my mouth forms the word ‘Grace.’ Freely received. Earning grace makes it grace no longer, anyway.

grace

 

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