Sometimes the weeks and days merge into one, and I wonder if what I am doing matters. It is easy to talk about all the stuff I get done during day, all my accomplishments, but deep within there is a constant battle of whether any of it really matters. Each day, I visualize a better me (spiritually, emotionally and physically) and express gratitude for what I have, yet there is a constant nagging feeling that I am not doing enough or that what I do is unnoticed by others. And then I see a beautiful sunrise, and it feels Papa is telling me I got you son. You are doing the right thing. The eyes fill up with tears once in a while, but that silence morning communion with him also does the job of bucking me up.
His morning routine I am adapting into my own, and I treasure this alone time as I am surrounded by my vision and doubts. Both do a daily battle, and I have to say my vision is winning more often than it used to. Still, that’s not to say that mornings when I get to also grieve and really allow myself to miss him. The rest of the time belongs to my vision. It is the only I allow myself to be in my shit. Only time when I miss him with such ache that I wonder how others do it. Yet, the pain also subsides a bit each time I do something I feel like he would be proud of (namely law, being in service to others, waking up early. etc).
It helps to have these moments, to see my life as that bloody beautiful sunrise because happiness will always come through vision over circumstance.