In my early years of marriage, my husband said that I got out of bed with the attitude of “Good, God, it’s morning.” Over the years that changed to “Good morning, God.” I’m not sure when, or even why. Perhaps it came about from years of getting up with our four children – the years I rose early to cook a hot breakfast for them before they left for school.
Or maybe it came about because of genetics. I remember my mom sitting at the table with her Bible open and a cup of coffee beside it, no matter how early I climbed out of bed. I asked her once, “What time do you get up?”
“4:30 or so,” was her reply.
“Why?” I asked in my horrified teenage voice.
She told me she loved the quiet of the morning. She treasured her prayer time with no interruptions from our large, busy family. I had a hard time wrapping my head around that thought.
Fast forward to forty-five years later. My mother’s genetics caught up with me, or maybe I decided she had the right idea. It’s a rare day that I sleep past 5 a.m. And I can honestly say, “I love this time of the day.” Like my mother, I enjoy the quiet house, my prayer time, my reading time, my writing time, and my cup of coffee.
My mom, over 90 now, still lives in her home. Part of my routine is to spend time with her in the early morning hours at least two days each week. I often see the sunrise as I drive to her home. My car is quiet, but hymns play in my head as I view the rays of the sun illuminate the clouds in shades of reds, orange, gold and purple.”How great thou art,” or “The heavens are telling the glory of God,” are two melodies that I sing to myself as I drive.
Today, I’m grateful for a beautiful way to begin each day. The sunrise is just an added bonus.