My mum always said she could tell my mood depending on whether or not I was singing. By the time I normally roll out of bed – natural body-clock being 11am – a song is generally churning away at my vocal chords, and with the power combination of ricocheting bathroom tiles and an enclosed echoey shower, it tends to sound pretty good. Last night I decided to open up a little Paperblank book I was given many moons (5 years) ago which I converted an aeon (3 years) ago into a prayer diary. It was with the intention of learning bible verses, but tended to be used very sporadically. However, after scribbling some thoughts down, I started reading over the sparse entries that lined the pages in a range of inks. A deep peace settled over me. I think it stemmed from the recognition of faithfulness. I saw a concept that is generally preached (and very rarely believed) start to manifest on its pages.
When the sleep cleared from my eyes and Bernhoft’s C’mon Talk finally subsided (only to be replaced by Houghton’s Trading My Sorrows, a fair exchange) the fading images that clouded my befuddled mind were ones of joy. A deep joy at the slightly random idea that my best friend would discover a deep love.
It took me to the bathroom with strained vocal chords in a very muggy shower at the crack of dawn (8am) and set my day alight. However dark the night is joy comes in the morning, and it comes even faster when you wake up with singing.