It’s early. Really early.
My eyes are trying to figure out why my brain is commanding them to open. It’s still dark, for crying out loud! But, it’s hard to turn the stove on without burning yourself if your eyes are closed. And, if the stove isn’t turned on, how can coffee be made that will encourage the eyes to open and remain that way?
My Wednesday mornings are governed by a prayer gathering at 6:00 a.m. Normally, getting up at 5:00 is routine. Today, well, it’s a different story. I’d love to sleep a bit longer. But I roll out of the comfortable bed, against my will, trying to come up with some excuse that sounds good for not showing up. With none forthcoming, I push off the bed with a grunt.
Flopping onto the couch as I await the magic dark elixir to boil, I replay the last few days and how prayer has come on like gangbusters: a dear friend’s cancer markers improving dramatically, a friendship being restored, multiple pieces of good news out of Brasil, important decisions that need to be made becoming clear; and this just in the course of two days.
The tears of a friend who I’ve not prayed with in almost two years on us coming back together again to pray yesterday lingers in my mental replay. Something triggers, almost like an electric cattle prod, and I’m up and moving.
The body is still weak (tired) but the spirit has now scooted into the driver’s seat. I don’t know how the rest of the day will go, but my slow start has just turned into a sprint…