for we are the sheep of His hand

I start every morning facing the sink, facing East, fixing coffee. As a ritual, it is extremely satisfying - not much changes in the phsyical functions, even sickness or cranky children can't stop the flow of water from faucet to pot, the fine grains of coffee from bag to filter. The view framed by my window remains the same: cul-de-sac, 3 large neighbor-houses, hedgerow, field, sky. Within those confines, everything changes. 6:40 am is always different. Some mornings I watch raucus crows and gulls argue their wake up calls. Many days it's the creep of fog up from the river that focuses my attention. The February field is tan stubble, but the May field is verdant. Last fall brought orange globes of pumpkin shining through the mist, this fall it may be tall corn. After the harvest I see porch lights, and know the houses by their dark shadows. Each day requires fine adjustments. The sun wheels 'round the edges, its meniscus higher now than 3 months ago.

This morning's 6:40 was blue and yellow, the sun already above the far banks of the out-of-sight river, the field tipped with green. Cold water filling the coffee pot, I pushed on the radio. Today is a very different morning than it was 3 months ago for the family and friends, the coworkers and the unknown supporters of freelance reporter Jill Carroll. Her freedom broke my heart open, and what I didn't know was locked was free, too. This woman that I don't know and never will touched me deeply.

Ms. Carroll is young, articulate, intelligent, and committed to telling a story she knows she can tell. I will be interested in reading her account of her confinement by captors who never told her what they wanted. I will be interested in her return to writing, and I hope her return to the streets and the people of Iraq.

This morning, at 6:41, as water flowed and coffee dripped and the sun stretched warmth westward, I was sure the Psalmist got it right:

Come let us sing to the Lord; *
let us shout for joy to the Rock of our salvation.
Let us come before his presence with thanksgiving *
and raise a loud shout to him with psalms.

For the Lord is a great God, *
and a great King above all gods.
In his hand are the caverns of the earth, *
and the heights of the hills are his also.
The sea is his, for he made it, *
and his hands have molded the dry land.

Come, let us bow down, and bend the knee, *
and kneel before the Lord our Maker.
For he is our God,
and we are the people of his pasture and the sheep of his hand. *
Oh, that today you would hearken to his voice!