I hear the inevitable bump on wooden floorboards and the sound of running feet. No matter where I am in the house, I know that my oldest son is now awake. I smile to myself as he makes his search. The pattering feet go into my bedroom. Then I hear him investigate the bathroom. He stumbles down the stairs, rubbing sleep from his eyes until he finds me and greets me with a big bear hug.
In the midst of his exuberance, I almost don't hear the soft creak of footsteps on the bunk bed ladder in the room above me. I smile again as I hear the tiptoeing steps of my daughter. She comes quietly down the steps, with a little more forethought as to where I will be this time of morning. "Good morning, Mommy," she says, as she snuggles into my lap next to her brother.
I listen again as a little voice calls, "Ma!" I hear springs bouncing as my youngest stands up in his crib, waiting. I wait, too, and smile as he repeats, "Ma!" Up the stairs I go to retrieve him as he hands me his empty bottle in a business-like way, then reaches his arms to me. "Ma!"
Why do I smile? Because I know how they feel. As the first rays of sun announce a new day, I wake: often running, at times tiptoeing, sometimes bouncing. Yet, my thoughts go to my Father. Where is He? I must find Him, talk with Him, feel His embrace. How I need Him! I cannot start this day alone. I reach out to Him--my Father.
And He smiles.