My Chair

It waits for me, my special place
by the fire
In the chair that wraps around just perfectly.
As my eyes open, still heavy with sleep,
I hear the call
Quiet and persistent
“Come, sit a while.”
And so I say I will
And choose to think on all the times
I’ve gone early to my chair by the fire
Tea in hand
Bible on knee
Pen and journal ready.

And I recall the peace and wisdom gained there.

Then-

I hear that all-too-familiar
Grating, grinding voice
Demanding me to “do!” “go!” “rush!” “hurry!”
There is no time for tea or bible or journal today, it says.
There is much to do
And I must start early for it to be accomplished.

So now I must choose.
Which voice will have its way today?
How the day proceeds
The significance of my deeds
Depends on the answer.
And I know by now
(Oh, how long it has taken
And how easily I forget!)
That the quiet voice calling me
To my chair by the fire must prevail,
And that I should go there early , lest the deeds of the day
Swallow up that sacred time.
My heart tells me “Arise! There is work to be done!”
The work of rest.
The work of stillness.
The work of silence.
And as I sit in my chair by the fire
Tea in hand
Bible on lap
Pen and journal ready
I know it is going to be a GoOD day!