His Day, Not Mine

My dreams fade as the sound of a beeping wake my reality.

I climb out of comfort dragging my feet for another day

And walk with indifference to clean my body of wickedness.

The water drips over me

With my eyes closed

And hands against the wall.

My mind calms as I meditate on the sound of dripping water

And the touch of warm purity that hits my shoulders.

Thoughts wonder from one to another

Concerning my life and how it is lived

But I rid myself of such thoughts

Cause the burden of stress is like acid.

After the handle is turned and the water ceases

I make my way back to what I now consider "home"

To dress with first a sock and finally a shirt.

I look in the mirror as if to try and gain a kind of acceptance

But 1st Peter intervenes.

So I sit down and open my guide to a better life.

A life of purity

A life of discipline

A life of love

After some spiritual insight

The clock tells me its time to start the day

And the book next to it tells me

To start it right.

So as I walk downstairs towards the doors

Separating me from the outside world

I ask myself if this will be my day

Or His.

But as I walk through those doors I quickly realize

This should be His day.

I see the sun shine through the morning dew

And the branches on the trees reaching towards the Heavens.

The wind hits my face as if to say, "Good Morning"

While the suns rays warm my upper back.

I take a look at the creation that my Creator has made

And can't help but be comforted by the grace of our God.

His art far outweighs Van Gogh or Michelangelo's

For his art lives and breathes.

It turns a small seed into a Redwood.

It turns coal and pressure into a priceless stone.

It turns love into a living breathing baby.

I'm reminded everyday I step outside

That this isn't my day

This is His day.

The day goes on and His beauty screams its magnificence

Though we live in a society where most are deaf

And most are blind to the most obvious.

So I do my best to open my eyes and ears

To what was created around me

So that I might worship Yahweh

The creator of the Heavens and Earth.

We are the paint on His canvas

We are clay in His hands

We are his creation.

And that is why this should be His day

Not mine.

So as I walk on the manmade concrete

Towards a classroom of insignificance

I glance at the grass

The trees

The flowers

And the clouds

And realize the comfort is not where I left my dreams,

It's when I begin my day