Come to the Table

Sleep. 

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.
Psalm 5:3

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.