My undivided attention for Papa.

Every day I wake up with my personal wish list. Inner peace.

Space for the other. Attentive listening. Feeling what the other person is experiencing. Being powerlessly present. To be able to check off these ambitious goals in the evening, a quiet start to the day is indispensable.

My morning ritual begins with at least fifteen minutes on Papa’s lap. I borrowed this way of starting the day from Jesus. Since I recognize myself in His generous availability to people in need, I was fascinated by how He sustained it.
His way of beginning the day, described in Mark 1:35, inspired me to approach each new day in a similar way. As soon as my alarm goes off, I get out of bed, slip into my bathrobe, walk downstairs, and take my seat in my chair in our quiet living room. Without a smartphone, without email, without anything that pulls at my attention. Sitting in my chair, I close my eyes and let my awareness travel toward the here-and-now. This “place,” where time and space meet and where God is always present, becomes accessible when sensory perception grows stronger than the spinning of thoughts.

With full attention, I scan  through my senseswhatever can be noticed in that moment. I work from bottom to top and from outside to inside. I direct my attention to my feet. I feel how they feel (cold–warm, stiff–supple, rested–tired). I feel how they rest on the high‑pile carpet. I feel the texture of the carpet. I add no thoughts. I simply feel, without judgment. Cold, stiff, or tired are not condemned. With an “it-is-what-it-is,” I want to perceive without judgment. With this scanning posture, I slowly move upward: lower legs, knees, upper legs, hips, buttocks, lower back, neck and shoulders, the back of my head, forehead, face. At that last stop, I treat myself by shaping my mouth into a gentle smile. This is how I want to step into the new day smiling.
Once I arrive there, I turn my attention inward. I attentively follow my breathing. I experience my inhalation of life and my exhalation of everything my body no longer needs. I notice where my breath is located: chest or belly. And again: it-is-what-it-is. And in this state of full awareness, I (only then) add a truth beyond the senses: I am completely surrounded by Papa (Acts 17:27–28a). Just as a little boy on his father’s lap feels utterly safe in the arms that press him close to his father’s chest (Psalm 131:1–2). By being His child in this way, I can once again be an adult who is available to others throughout the day.