Blissful Mornings - The Sanctuary of Stillness: Daisy’s Gift

Daisy had long forgotten what it felt like to wake up with a light heart. The weight of the world had settled into her bones—news headlines filled with sorrow, the endless demands of work, the quiet ache of loneliness that pressed in during the still hours of the night. Morning had lost its magic. It had become just another threshold to cross into the same noise, the same exhaustion, the same heaviness.

But God/Sprit/Universe listens, even when we do not realize we are asking.

One evening, she visited her grandparents’ house—a place where time seemed to slow, where the scent of aged paper and lavender lingered in every corner. While helping to clear out the attic, she noticed a small figure rummaging through a dust-covered trunk—her young niece, Lily, barely eight years old, her golden curls catching the dim light like threads of spun sunlight.

“Auntie Daisy, look!” Lily’s voice rang out with a lilt of excitement as she pulled a book from the trunk. Its leather cover was soft, worn from the touch of hands before her, and gilded letters shimmered faintly beneath the dust:

Blissful Mornings.

Daisy knelt beside her, brushing her fingers over the embossed title. “Where did you find this?”

“In the old trunk,” Lily said, flipping through the pages with wonder. “I think it was waiting for us.”

Daisy chuckled, but something about Lily’s words sent a quiet ripple through her. It did feel like something meant to be found, like an invitation wrapped in time.

Lily pressed the book into her hands, her wide eyes filled with a wisdom far beyond her years. “You should have it, Auntie. I think it’s for you.”

Daisy hesitated. “But you found it, sweetheart.”

The little girl smiled, her expression as gentle as dawn’s first light. “Maybe. But sometimes we find things for other people.”

Daisy pulled her niece into an embrace, feeling the warmth of something unseen settle into her heart. When she finally turned the first page later that night, she found only a single phrase:

“Let the morning be a sanctuary, not a battlefield.”

She let the words sink in. And then, for the first time in what felt like forever, she set her phone aside and let the silence of the evening hold her.

The next morning, before the world could rush in, she turned another page. A poem greeted her, speaking to the ache she hadn’t realized she had carried so long. Each morning, she returned, as though the book itself knew what she needed, as though the words had been waiting for her all along.

The world had not changed. The noise was still there, the burdens of life remained. But she had changed.

And weeks later, when she saw a woman sitting alone at the café, eyes tired, shoulders heavy, Daisy knew.

She reached into her bag, pulled out the book, and gently placed it on the table.

The woman looked up, startled. “What’s this?”

Daisy smiled, the same soft, knowing smile that had once been given to her.

“A gift,” she said. “Because sometimes, we find things for other people.”

And just like that, the universe listened again.

-Bliss Chains Authors