The comfort of routine. Today I want remember the rare chilliness of morning, the tang of cranberries, the way newspaper ink makes my nose curl a bit. I want to remember the still sweetness of morning prayer, the care of the saints in remembering our sorrow, the balm of worship and looking towards Christ. I want to remember the high-pitch voices of kids singing praises, the silliness of pants falling down, the determined faces set to cut the papers just right. I want to remember the faces I love around my table again, the pleasure of having my cookie helper at the mixer, and the mischievous elf sliding down my stairs on a mattress. I want to remember the surprise of text that makes me laugh, sharing space with my girl at the end of the day, and a day of rest indeed.
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