Big Enough

January 18, 2026

10 minutes before sunrise, January 15, 2026

Some mornings I don’t want to climb out of bed. It’s warm under the covers. My body feels held, supported, surrounded in a cocoon of safety. “Out there” is unknown.

I wonder if birds feel this safety when wrapped in the brush and bushes? (swamp sparrow)

It is a promise that gets me out of bed. A promise from Life herself that “out there” is where I want to be.

Perhaps this same promise gets the robins to leave their roost each morning?

A promise that if I put my feet on the floor and take that first step, there is beauty waiting to greet me.

I never know what might be waiting.

She tempts my curiosity by reminding me that anything is possible “out there”. Today, there may be eagles and towhees and spectacular clouds, even if I can’t see them yet in the darkness.

I wouldn’t want to miss a spotted towhee!

She whispers, “Out there, amidst the noise and the chaos and the darkness, you can be fully alive.”

Downy woodpecker certainly seems to want to be “out there”.

Some mornings, I ask her to reassure me that I am brave enough to embody the life that is ready to be here today.

I think common goldeneyes have to remember their courage a lot - some days I resemble a skittish duck.

Some mornings, I ask her to remind me that she is BIG ENOUGH to hold everything that is waiting “out there” today.

Big enough and rooted enough, like my tree friend on a very windy day.

Some mornings, she reminds me that what I am is also big enough to hold everything that is waiting “out there” today.

My kinglet friend said, “If I’m big enough, you certainly are!”

She sends energy through my body, willing it out of bed. She helps me make the tea, brush my teeth, and put on all the clothes that are required when the temperature is 16 degrees and a strong north wind is blowing.

Sunrise, January 16, 2026 - sometimes you can just SEE the wind.

I remember that this morning, this one morning, will never come again. I remember that whatever is waiting “out there” is only here for a minute, and then it’s gone.

Gone in a flash like my bluebird friend.

Some days, when my resistance is high, I pause and send love to everything within me that is afraid of what we might find.

“We can do it together friend!”

I open the curtains to the darkness to see if it will be “worth it.” Can I see the moon and the stars? Do I see clouds? Can I see the wind blowing?

Sometimes it’s what I see in the shadows, like the robin hiding behind my cardinal friend.

It is that look out the window, no matter what I see, that look usually lights a fire in me. What is “out there” calls to me with its possibility and promise.

So much promise, even when it’s shrouded in fog.

I remember that I was made for this moment. That what I am right now is all I need to be in this moment, and that whatever I will need for the next moment is on its way to me right now.

Brave, like the first year eagles that have been around this week. How do they get the courage to travel so far on their own?

As I drive to the lake and walk down to the water, I repeat my new mantra: “My timing is perfect for me. I am exactly what and where I need to be in this moment.”

This sharp-shinned hawk is perfect in this moment, too.

On the best days, I watch as the sun lights up the lowest clouds, then spreads her colors along the horizon and up into the sky.

Just before sunrise, January 15, 2026, definitely big enough to hold it all.

On these days, I see that, in fact, She IS big enough to hold it all, and that means that I am too.

Encouragement from my little warbler friend.

On the days I don’t feel so sure that I am ready and capable of meeting the moment, She sings a love song in my ear. The song changes, but every time it reminds me that I am bigger than I remember.

It’s good to have friends as you stare out into the big, wide world.

She reminds me that I can do this. What I am is big enough. I only have to remember.

Remember the light is inside of me too, even in dark times.

May you remember the light inside is infinite whenever the moment feels like too much.