There is a silence before sunrise that grabs you. The birds quit singing and even the bugs stop their cacophony. The wind stills and the sky prepares the stage by turning from black to pink to blue. The earth pauses for the sun’s big moment as it 
cracks the horizon. It peeks from behind the trees and warms the earth. And then, as if on cue, the world starts moving again.
It’s a gift. A blessing. A daily miracle.
I try to get out on Saturdays to see this show. As I’m running along the shores of the Reservoir, it’s the brief moment when I’m reminded of how fortunate I am to be on this side of the grass.
Today is Ash Wednesday, a particularly somber religious holiday and the official start of Lent. Lent is practiced by many Christians and usually involves giving things up — I remember one classmate who gave up gum. “Do you chew gum?” I asked him. “No.” Well, that shouldn’t be too hard.
Me? Well, I am see Ash Wednesday as more than just a reminder that I came from dust and will return to it. It’s a reminder that I need to truly live during the time in between. So I will rub my melanoma scar and live in the moment. I will seize the day and be proactive in my relationships. I’ll give up my rotten tendency to take my life for granted. I will meditate and reset my priorities. I will have a grateful heart.
And I’ll give up gum — strictly in honor of my old classmate.