I'm drinking coffee out of a Michigan mug. On purpose. I repeat to myself over and over that we're rebuilding. Actually, by this point in the season, I've effectively numbed out to the whole thing. I actually haven't watched any of the past two games (yesterday's was on the Big Ten Network, so I didn't have a choice).
I can hear Coffeeson's breathing over the monitor. He'd been up from around 5:30 to 6:45. Coffeewife was getting ready for work at that time, so he got some playtime in before falling back asleep.
It's a quiet, reflective morning. Soon Coffeeson and I will load up and head for the church.
This morning, I'll invite confirmands and their sponsors to share their "life timelines" with each other and try to spot moments when God may have been especially present.
I'll invite parents to come forward and make promises, along with the entire congregation, to help one infant spot his own God-moments.
We'll give thanks for lives departed, and the ways they contributed to God-moments for us.
We'll share communion...a God-moment meal.
And then Coffeeson and I will come back home. He'll bounce around in his springy toy-thing. He'll laugh and squeal. He'll throw his toys on the floor after unsuccessfully trying to eat them. He'll grin from ear to ear if I just give him a look...it doesn't take much when he's in a good mood. It'll be a series of God-moments, the latest for me. He's been my main source of them for almost seven months now.
I may type this or work on that. I may read this or watch that on TV. I'll call this person or I'll think about some other person. I'll drink from a different mug. Maybe another Michigan one. I have two.
But this morning calls for the remembrance of God-moments. Dreary numbed mornings made glorious summer by recalling the active presence of the divine in and among us.
Except I actually like fall better than summer.
But that's okay, because God is a God for all seasons.
Coffeeson is stirring.
The day continues.