“But there’s one thing I remember, and remembering, I keep a grip on hope: God’s loyal love couldn’t have run out, his merciful love couldn’t have dried up. They’re created new every morning.” Lamentations: 3:21-23
When I was a little boy, I could sleep through a thunderstorm. Even when Christmas was just a daybreak away, I could sleep. But my older brother made sure that didn’t happen. Before the sun could peek over the rim of the Blue Ridge Mountains, Jimmy would be shaking me in my blankets.
“Mark, it’s Christmas! Get up!” Groggy from sleep, I’d be pulled from my dream as my brother pulled me out of bed. It was a traditional Christmas wake-up call.
Sometimes Jimmy and I would trade secrets under the shield of our covers. And if the batteries were working, an old flashlight under the blankets made our secret talks even better.
On Sundays, Dad would delicately drag me by my feet until my head bounced on the shiny wooden floor. “His deep bass voice would boom, “Get up, boy!” (as if I had any choice).
There have been other wake-up calls in my life, from bugle calls at camp to those nasty wind-up alarm clocks.
But my favorite wake-up calls are those I have from my God.
When I don’t seem to have time for Him, He makes time for me. Such a sweet wake up call! No alarm bells, no dragging on the floor.
At least, not recently. God HAS dragged me out of bed with alarm bells ringing. Sometimes to get my attention about a secret sin that I needed to deal with, or maybe because someone needed a prayer right then. I could write a long time about THOSE calls.
But right now I’m savoring the quiet ones. The ones where He says, “I know it’s five in the morning and your alarm is set for six. And I know you’d planned on spending a bit of time with me once you got up. But I just want to have some time with you before you get busy, Mark.” And then a feeling warmer than blankets tucked in tightly by a loving mom.
And then a caress from within me, a breath closer than my own. Pure love, but held back some just so I don’t break from the strength of that gentleness.
But sometimes I do. And I cuddle close to the one who loved me first and listen, and try not to talk, and just let God love me.
Listen in the quiet. When God comes to you in the quiet, don’t feel obligated to speak. Listen, and just let God love you.
In the morning, in the middle of the night, in the quiet, in the sweetness and the holiness of the Breath of Heaven. When you hear the whisper, don’t roll over in the covers. Listen to the voice of the lover of your soul and let God love you.