These days, climbing into my bed is one of my favorite parts of the day.
I find it amusing how when I was little, I would fight to stay up for “5 more minutes.”
Now I fight to go to bed.
Sleep is that thing that I used to do quite well, and somewhere between childhood and becoming a wifemothersisterfriendDaughteroftheMostHighKing, it got lost.
As an adult I discovered caffeine. Coffee for me was like trading a black and white television for a world of color. Mornings now had new possibilities.
But too soon I discovered that caffeine is a poor substitute for the real thing. Sleep.
My alarm goes off to a groan at o’dark thirty, and I’m faced with a choice. I can press my head further into the pillow, pull my blanket in tighter to my chin, and hit the snooze button for a few more minutes of sleepy time bliss…
Or I can head to the table. While the temptation to hit snooze is enticing, the whisper to come to the table draws me from my slumber.
I head down the hall, shuffle to the stove, heat some tea water, and take my seat with the Word. At least I get to stay in my warm pajamas for this meeting.
It is here at the table that I am reminded why I give up an extra hour of sleeping delight. In the hush of a sleeping household , without a demand or need for my time, I sit with Jesus.
In the morning I will direct my prayer unto thee, and look up.
God doesn’t force me to come to the table. My meetings with Him are as crucial to my existence as sleep and air are, but being a Christian doesn’t involve a list of do’s and don’ts or rules. It’s not a legal relationship or one of force.
A relationship with Jesus is a love one.
I can cozie in deeper and skip setting the alarm, but that extra hour or two of sleep won’t make me more like Jesus; only time with Him will.