Sitting tangle-haired in His lap

From My Corner of the World

It’s early.

The house is dark and quiet and cold. Enough times having my toes curl on the chilled wooden floors, and I now keep socks ready for after when my fingers fumble and find and thump the snooze once or twice.

I shuffle to turn on the teapot and pour Nate’s time-brewed coffee, still hazed with sleep. I’m tempted to do what tempts most of us in th…