This morning, I woke up to sound of soft winter rain. The kind of rain that feels like Grace. (Well, I think all rain feels like Grace. But this shower is especially Grace-full.)
And I've had this thought as I eat my toast and drink my chai tea...What if breakfast really is the most important meal of the day, but for a totally different reason from what I've always assumed?
You see, I've never been much of a morning person. But these days, my mornings are sacred. They are the quiet, stillness my life so desperately needs. And breakfasts, well, they require me to sit and sip and settle. And it seems that breakfast is the time when I can sit and revel in the fact that His mercies are new every morning. And I can intimately say, "In the morning, when I rise, give me Jesus." And I'm not consumed by lists or expectations, I'm just still. I'm just sitting on a stool at the prep table my Papa prepared so many meals on, breaking bread with the Morning.
Maybe breakfast matters because it gets our metabolism running.
Or maybe, breakfast matters because it is a benediction.