"Good morning and welcome to Thursday morning greetings on this July 24th, 2025. What time is sunrise? As I sit here blogging from my cabin within the Cypress Swamp in Shreveport LA, I am reminded of a time where I wasn't always happy being a homeless person out in the heat."
Those were the first words that came to mind this morning, a raw and immediate reflection that surfaced in the pre-dawn quiet. It’s just after 6 AM here. The world outside my window is a symphony of soft grays and deep blues, the air thick with the humid promise of a Louisiana summer day. The official sunrise isn't until 6:24 AM, but the day is already making its presence known in the gentle stirring of the cypress leaves and the first tentative calls of waking birds.
Sunrise Greetings: Rise n Shine Thursdays - A Cypress Swamp Sunrise with the aroma of fresh coffee hangs in the air, a familiar and comforting anchor to the morning, a quiet harbor whose tranquility is made all the more precious by the memory from those stormy seas of life we all experience at times.
In this moment, there is a profound sense of peace. But peace is a curious thing. For some, it is a constant, gentle hum in the background of their lives. For others, it is a hard-won sanctuary, a quiet harbor whose tranquility is made all the more precious by the memory of stormy seas. My peace is the latter. As I sit here, safe and sheltered, the simple act of looking forward to the sunrise brings the past into sharp, immediate focus. The memory isn’t a ghost that haunts; it's a teacher that clarifies. It’s the memory of a relentless, oppressive sun with no shade to offer refuge. It’s the memory of a heat that wasn’t just a number on a thermometer but a constant, draining adversary. It’s the memory of a profound unhappiness, a rootlessness that made even the simplest comforts seem like an impossible dream. I am so deeply happy and blessed to have a place to live now, a sanctuary where I can stay cool and calm during the hottest part of the day instead of being on the streets or in actual wilderness areas.
To have journeyed from that reality to this one—from the searing asphalt to a quiet cabin porch, from a state of constant vulnerability to one of deep-seated peace—is a transformation that gives this morning its sacred weight. Every sip of coffee, every moment of quiet, every keystroke on this blog is a testament to that journey. It is why gratitude, for me, is not just a polite sentiment; it is a visceral, gut-level recognition of how far I've come.
This deep sense of reflection has inspired the suggestions I want to share with you this Thursday.
This Week's Suggestions
Something to Think About
Acknowledge Your Journey with Detail: Don’t just be grateful for what you have; connect it directly to what you once lacked. If you are grateful for your home, take a moment to truly feel the roof over your head and remember a time you wished for such shelter. If you are grateful for a full pantry, feel the weight of a can in your hand and remember the gnawing uncertainty of hunger. This practice isn't about dredging up old pain for its own sake, but about giving your present blessings their true and proper weight. It transforms vague appreciation into profound, heartfelt gratitude.
Redefine Your Scars: We all carry scars from our pasts—emotional, spiritual, and sometimes physical. It is easy to see them as marks of damage or weakness. Today, try to see them differently. See them as proof of healing. See them as the place where strength entered. A past hardship is not a liability; it is the forge where your resilience was hammered into shape. Look back at a time that once defined you by its pain and consciously redefine it by the strength you were forced to build in response. That strength is your sacred inheritance.
Anchor Yourself in the Tangible Present: When difficult memories surface, it can feel destabilizing. The most powerful way to counter this is to ground yourself in the physical reality of your now. Take a moment to perform a sensory check-in. What are five things you can see? Four things you can feel? Three things you can hear? Two things you can smell? One thing you can taste? Feel the solid chair beneath you. Notice the intricate pattern of the wood grain on your table. Hear the hum of the refrigerator. These simple, tangible things are the undeniable proof that you are here. You are now. You are safe.
The most resilient peace is the kind that has been tested. The view from the mountain top is made breathtaking by the memory of the arduous climb. Our personal histories, with all their shadows and struggles, are what give the light in our lives its brilliant contrast.
So today, I invite you to share in this reflection.
What is the "Cypress Swamp" in your life—what quiet place, simple comfort, or internal feeling of peace serves as the beautiful harbor that reminds you of the stormy seas you have successfully navigated?
Let's share our stories of resilience in the comments.
Have a blessed and deeply grateful Thursday.
Yours Captain Hedges
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