My days begin early by design. I've never enjoyed the chaotic rush of last-minute mornings. Dressed and out the door five minutes after the alarm shocks you into a state of maniacal panic sounds about as enjoyable as I just described it. Instead, I allow the morning to unfold slowly.
Coffee, prayer, reading, thinking.
Admittedly, I struggle in those darkly quiet hours. I pray as my mind wanders to places that have carried over from the night before. I read as my thoughts are captured by other, far less important words. I drift in and out of scenarios that keep me unsettled and perpetuate the night of unrest I may have just come through. More than anything, early mornings have the tendency to heap condemnation upon me. I never feel my inadequacies and sin as acutely as I do at this time of day. It's a burden of weighty proportions. But in it, is God.
In my tired fragility, the words come. Eventually, the voice speaking from those pages of verses speaks what He's already spoken. There's remembrance and with remembrance, a droplet of comfort. There is no condemnation (Rom 8:1). I am an heir (Rom 8:17). I am hidden in Him (Col 3:3). I can do nothing alone (Jn 15:5). I am delighted in (Ps 147:11). I will abide (Jn 15:4).
Somehow in the morning I forget who I am. I forget that I'm not breathing, or seeing, or reading, or praying, or drinking on my own, but that every movement comes from the One who allows all things to move and breathe and have their being. I see the dawning of the sun and I remember He has given new light. I see the birds gather on the branches and I remember He has given new life. I am an ongoing recipient of a never-ending grace that puts me in a category of the world's most accepted children. And once again, the day begins.
*For further meditation, we recommend Psalm 63.