The peach-skinned sky met with a cup of coffee and a cold metal bistro set to greet me this morning. Still early enough that light only tinged the eastern sky and darkness wrapped the corners, I couldn't hear any roosters yet. A cow, oblivious to time, lowed from the pasture, probably desperate for a milking.
In the early pre-dawn, birds were still asleep. So were my neighbors. No car engines. No children talking on their way to the bus stop, no ramblings in the house. Aside from the cow, the only sound was my dog licking his paw.
If ever there is a more blessed time of day, for me it would be the still, chilly early morning, when light starts winning the battle with darkness. These are my times of prayer. Quiet. Still. Just me and Christ. These are the times when, without thought, people come to heart; my aunt Shefy who will have surgery this week, Joshua out on the west coast in the Army, Zach up in Canada waiting for an important phone call.
These are the times when wind blowing over the trees and sunrise peeking over the pasture mimic past beautiful sunrises at the beach with my loved ones, especially Amber and Mom. Coffee in hand, we would walk through wet, night-chilled sand, watching a sky come to life. The memories are vivid in my mind's cinema.
In these times it appears to the outsider that I am doing nothing more than sitting, drinking coffee. I am really raging war. I am pushing Satan away from my loved ones. I am pleading for souls precious to me. I am granting grace and healing sick. I am holding the hands of the feeble.
When you see me sitting, coffee in hand- look a little closer. You may just see nail prints in my hands. You may just see scars on my forehead. If you look really close...you may just see Christ setting here, coffee in hand.