You can’t avoid morning, so start with coffee.
I mean rituals.
No, I mean coffee.
For the longest time, the monotony of getting up and getting everyone ready was a chore. It wasn’t pleasant and it certainly wasn’t planned, but you can’t avoid mornings. I would wake late—crack of nine-thirty, because I was up late the night before. I chalked it up to breastfeeding and needing some down time. When I began creating a schedule and rising earlier in the morning, I got the down time I was looking for, and it was more refreshing. My schedule is not perfect and it’s also not written in stone. Sometimes other activities override everything, but the schedule is there to fall back on. I digress. It all started with redefining one small morning habit.
My love for routine began with making a pot of coffee. It’s not just any coffee, its French pressed. I used to make a 12 cup pot to share with my husband during the morning. We made it only for the pleasure of drinking, but it habit took over in a big way. There was no love in the making of that cup of joe, just get the coffee in me. Since my husband and I shared this pot, I wasn’t drinking the whole thing. It was a lot of coffee between the two of us. Mugs got bigger over time, then it became two pots of coffee. How did this happen? Crazy habit ramped up on a bit o’ caffeine.
How did I take a plain habit and make it a lovable ritual? I enjoyed coffee. I didn’t want to give that up, but I did want to make changes. The exact moment of change happened when I yearned for my favorite cup of coffee. Ever.
Snagging some early morning time.
It began on a trip from our bucket list. Several years ago, before child number four, my husband and I were visiting a little cafe in Paris, sitting outside and enjoying the view by the Siene River. We had been touring the city on that fair October day and our next stop was the Louvre to see the Mona Lisa. We needed a break. I ordered a coffee and a pastry. I remember being a bit shocked and if I admit it, annoyed, at the size of the (smallish) cup. It was not my standard mug at home. It wasn’t a dainty thing, either. The barista had great workmanship. The foam on top swirled and it was sweetened just right. This coffee was the best cup I had ever had. It was as coffee should be; it was enough. It was potent. I savored it more because of the strength and the size of the cup.
That was the cup I wanted to repeat.
I searched “How to make a perfect cup of French coffee” French pressed was the first to come up. THAT is where my love of the simple ritual came to be. I found a site that talked, no, raved about French press coffee and how it makes the best pot. I read through the steps and went through them mentally. I had purchased a French press earlier in the year and my results weren’t stellar, so I tucked it away until now. It seemed like a lot of work, bringing the pot to near boiling, adding a little bit of water, swishing it around, dumping, add grounds, followed by more water, wait. Stir, wait… The steps were numerous and seemed overwhelming first thing in the morning. But what I found is that it became easy with practice and I enjoyed the process. It wasn’t just drinking the coffee in the morning that I looked forward to, it was preparing it. My coffee consumption went back down to a small amount; one, and by small chance, two mugs.
This is me now. Totes.
So now it’s a little ritual in the morning. It’s my little ritual in the morning. My eyes fly open at about 6, from my alarm buzzing. I lay in bed, flip it off, and when I remember (still working on it), bless myself.
It’s another little moment to the start of my day. I have choices: I could lay in bed and cruise Facebook while I wait for a more decent hour to get up, or I could get up and start my coffee. Most days, the enchantment of getting up to make that coffee calls me. It’s joyful.
Adding to the rituals means I get to love the morning.
Following that experience, I intentionally began to look for other places I found little spots of delight. The next task I cherished: cracking eggs for breakfast. My eggs come from a small urban farm whose chickens are loved and cared for. They eat bugs, grass and organic feed with table scraps thrown in. Their diet shows in the rich orange color of the yolks. When I open the box, they are ordered by color. Olive eggs, white, brown, speckled, and green. They light my morning and I enjoy being in my kitchen, cracking them open. I smile as I think of my farming friend and say a prayer for her. These are the places I first found beauty in routine. I keep looking as I make my day more and more organized. There is so much order in God’s world that I can’t help but keep looking for the beauty in the small things. It makes my heart a little more joyful.
I continue to find beauty in all areas. I hope you can see God’s goodness today in your routine.
Looking forward to finding more goodness and beauty in my morning rituals with my children.
This video is close to how I learned to make my French Press coffee. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9B4n-iUW_wI
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