Sleepy Gratitude.

I am so sleepy this overcast Friday afternoon. I’m cozied up in one of my favorite little tea shops with a coffee by my side. I haven’t slept much, and when I have I haven’t slept well. The days keep rolling by, and when I peak at the next few, I’m reminded they won’t stop. There will be more reading and more meetings and more exams and the more I try to forget their existence the quicker they seem to come.

And, shoot man … I’m tired.

But then I remember You. I remember how You met me in unexpected intimacy this morning. Before the sun had gotten up, before my roommates stirred, You found me there on that big brown couch. You came to me in that way You always do – subtle and suddenly, quietly and quickly. You melted the hardness in my heart and unstopped my stored up tears.

It was as if You came to tell me, once again, that it’s really all true – all the mysterious and wonderful and confounding realities that are ours as the Church. The way You sat with me, the way You waited on me, the way You way You didn’t insist on speaking or on silence.

You let me take my time.

You let me speak my mind and rail about offenses. You let me whisper and tell You of my wounds. You let me sing when I noticed Your faithful way of goodness toward me, even though I had my scratchy morning voice. And when my lips quivered and my voice would no be found, well, You heard that, too.

Right now, even thought my eyes are puffy from sleeplessness and my lids are heavy and want to close, the corners of my mouth can’t help but turn as I think on how near You are. Even now. In this little shop. On this dreary afternoon. Here in this heart, You have chosen to come near.

And I am grateful.