☕
By 8 AM, the house is officially awake — or at least pretending to be. The dogs have already made their morning rounds, Gerald’s slamming things in the kitchen trying to decide what to have for lunch, and David’s out the door with a phone call that says, “I’ll handle dinner later.” I’m standing at the counter, coffee in hand, watching the circus unfold.
C’s moving slower today. He’s got that look — the one that means his anxiety’s whispering before his feet even hit the floor. You don’t push. You just hand him coffee and say, “You’ve got this.” He nods, half‑awake, half‑determined, already thinking about the jobs lined up — painting, power‑washing, laying new carpet. He’s learning that work can be therapy, that earning his own money is freedom, and that OCD doesn’t get to call the shots. He’s building something — not just a business, but a backbone.
The dogs bark at the neighbor’s walking bye like it’s a personal attack. You laugh, because honestly, it feels good to laugh before the day gets heavy. Gerald chuckles from the couch, “They’re just protecting their territory.” You smile — because that’s what you’re doing too.
Breakfast is simple: whatever David didn’t hide in the fridge. You’re not aiming for Pinterest‑perfect; you’re aiming for survival. And survival looks like coffee stains, mismatched plates, and a prayer whispered between bites.
You glance at the clock — 8:07 AM. The world’s already spinning fast, but you remind yourself: Grace doesn’t mean calm. It means courage.
🙏 The Prayer
“Lord, thank You for mornings that start messy and still matter. Thank You for coffee that tastes like hope. Thank You for C’s courage to keep going, for Gerald’s steady heart, for David’s strength, and for the dogs who remind me to protect my peace. Help me find grace in the noise, patience in the rush, and humor in the chaos. Let this Monday be less about perfection and more about presence. Amen.”
Thank you,
Glenda, Charlie and David Cates
