I am not a morning person; I burn the midnight oil much more reliably than I greet the sun. Lately, my inner night owl has been challenged as I’ve walked our dogs early in the morning, and I mean early – usually between 5:30 and 6:00 am. (For those of you who are laughing out there, saying things to yourself like “If she thinks that’s early …”, then God bless and keep you, but this is my story after all.) I wake rudely as small determined creatures clamber over my inert form. Rolling over and burying my head under my pillow, I feel muzzle pokes in my backside and hear the grating sound of scratchy dog toes running desperately over our hardwood floors. “Just a minute,” I vainly mumble.
Once up (and this is a relative term), I’m pushed from behind as if this will actually get me to move quicker. My pre-dawn outfits are usually a pair of sweats over my pajamas; I’ve even been known to throw a coat over my nightgown and put a pair of shoes on without socks (which was all right until the morning a neighbor’s dog got loose and I ended up at their door in said outfit at 6 am).
Outside, I walk with my head down in the cool air, steeling myself until I can return to the warmth and comfort of home. This morning, though, something prompted me to look up. There, in the deep blue expanse above me was an extravagant apricot moon, so large and fat it hung low in the sky, suspended just above the tree line, thin wisps of clouds wafting across its surface. I looked around. No one else was on the streets. This beautiful scene was for my eyes only. As we finished our walk and turned for home, the sky slowly suffused with light — delicate swathes of pink, purple and orange, with birdsong providing the perfect soundtrack. While I had been asleep, God had been faithful, just as He has been with all the sunrises and sunsets since creation. I took a long breath of the cool morning air, grateful for His promise of a new day.
Does this make me a morning person? Now, that would be a miracle! While I’m out in those early hours, though, rather than looking down at my sockless feet, I’ll keep my eyes lifted so I don’t miss the dawn of another day.