Routines are important. 

Whether or not we are fully aware of the parts that continuously comprise our days,
we all have routines.

For many years, I have started my mornings next to a window with a cup of something hot. My routine has been to sprawl my necessary materials over our dining room table and depending on the time available, linger long enough for a second cup. 

Unless the morning arrives too early, pinning me to my sheets, my family knows where to look, at the table, doing my thing, stopping only long enough for a hug or turning my head to bird watch. 

This has been my auto-pilot routine. When last March created a new life rhythm of everyone becoming ever-present, this routine felt especially interrupted due to the close proximity of our kitchen. Many mornings I felt a bit like how I felt being hit by the refrigerator door. It wasn’t anyone’s fault that our schedules were suddenly mismatched and opportunities to visit the kitchen were suddenly the most exciting part of any day. 

I will admit my non-verbal communication can be as loud as words. We lived with this underlying tension for 10 months. 

Over the months of being tucked away at home, I began unburdening our storage room/office space of unnecessary items and organizing what remained, more efficiently. This space had always been meant to house two desks for Carl and me. He decided to use a different area and when he began to work from home in April, he opted for one side of our family room in our daylight basement. 

The room was coming together despite a few “what do I do with this?” piles. However,  I still mainly visited the space to retrieve tomato sauce or a book from my personal library shelves. It simply had never felt like an inviting place to linger. 

Until one Sunday evening, I hoisted the soft-sided basket containing my morning materials and walked downstairs to my office space, and decided to make a small shift. I placed my morning items on my table and decided to change my place of residence.

On Monday morning I walked downstairs with my glass of water and mug of coffee. I greeted Carl with a wave, who was already headphone-laden conducting a meeting. I turned on my lamps, closed the door, and took my seat. 

After the third day, Carl asked me about my sudden change of routine, to which I explained the realization about how my preferences should not take precedence over our entire household. I could make a small change in location, especially when I was blessed with another space.

He questioned, “But what about how you like to watch the birds in the morning?”. 

I do love watching the birds, but they aren’t going anywhere. 

I am a slow learner.

The first few days were a bit of an adjustment in routine and setting. Carl added a portable heater and my son-in-law stumbled upon a timely office chair.
I may not be surrounded by my birds but now by all my books, journals, and pens. Each morning descent creates momentum towards the next dawn and cements this new habit.

Some mornings, when I am in my office, deep below the main floor, I can hear the clanging of pots and pans, the microwave, or even someone’s second cup being brewed, I catch myself smiling. The door is closed but not completely, I always have time enough to stop for a morning hug.

I had put my routine squarely in the middle of the foot path of our family when it was wiser to subtract myself, creating ease and relief to all by loosening my grip.

Have you ever been your own stumbling block? 

Where are you the common denominator in a place or source of tension?

What small shift can you make in your mindset, routine, or life this week?

Have you made a small shift during this long season that has yielded huge dividends?

It’s Holy Week and in direct contrast to the words above, I am desirous of not walking through these days as if this yearly observance is simply routine. It is a sacred rhythm to be pondered and filled with a sense of gratitude. It’s a time to be humbled by the weighty gift of grace and peace, when we were found weeping and looking and walking in the wrong direction.

This is the second year without an Easter service to attend. Last year, I recall waking to a morning steeped in sunbeams and feeling a bit discouraged and off-kilter. 

We set out a crate of bubbles for those who passed by and we will continue this practice once again.

Because nothing can hinder the reality of the stone being rolled away and Life defeating death. 

Nothing can stop joy from filling the skies and our hearts.

Sometimes peace comes from stepping out of the way.

Thanks be to God, the deepest peace came without any of my assistance or preferences.