Of human weakness and divine parenting

It is nearing 7am and I sit with one child on the couch, another burning up in bed, a husband shivering beneath blankets, and I am so humbled(/astounded/confused/intrigued maybe?) at the very nature of our Father.

To be so wholly God, and to know us in our very flesh, having graced the earth with heavenly steps, and yet not to tire (or sicken) the way we mortal parents must. To be vigilant, watchful and caring with each unending hour of sickness, weakness, fear. . . .

As the sun settles with great relief on this now quiet house, I wonder what magic lies in this early light. What mystery does the Master unfold in this ethereal light I rarely visit? I've long been told the significance of morning "quiet time" and that early rising starts the night before and I've longed to be that person who wakes in the quiet dark, tiptoes to the kitchen table to drink in the Word before the long dry day begins. To quench the already burning inadequecies first so that other needs might be met throughout the day.

We pray daily to be filled to overflowing, leaving no empty spaces wanting for earthly things. We pray for discipline and for strength to obey. And while our Bibles flop open at breakfast, verses repeated and prayed over before sending one out to the bus, is there something more that I am missing?

I have always resisted this notion of "quiet time". Long ago I carved a picture in my head of a God who waits there in the kitchen for his alotted time while the coffee brews. I imagined that this notion of quiet time somehow suggested a relationship that stayed there in the early morning. I realize now, of course, just how wrong that assumption was.

So now, having watched the light slowly creep in through the windows, having spent hours in silent 15 second prayers, and feeling the weight of bodily need, I am reminded anew of One who does not rest. Who does not grow weary with the coming of morning light, but who deserves praise at morning's first light and with the first breath of the day. Lord, give me strength in this faulty body to be one called unto you. To be one disciplined to make you first. Not to schedule only 30 minutes each day but to offer you my time at the start of each day you breath into existence so that I might see you in everything, that I might be more intent on hearing your voice all day long.

“Come to me with your ears wide open. Listen, for the life of your soul is at stake.” ~Isa. 55:3