Rhythms

The gentle beeping tells me it’s 5:30 AM. I sit up, pulling the pink foam earplugs from my ears (some people snore around here), and gently pull the bedside drawer open to tuck them away until night returns. I tip-toe down the hall, sidestepping that old creaking plank to avoid waking the boys. The light from the street lamp guides my feet down the steps, through the dark living room, and into our tiny kitchen.

I fill the kettle with water, set it on the burner, and turn the knob to ‘high.’ I open the cupboard door to retrieve a favorite mug. (Does everyone have a favorite mug?)

While I wait for the water to boil, I toss 2 tablespoons of freshly ground dark roast into the French press. Is it caffeinated? Of course it’s caffeinated. Seriously, is there any other kind?

Just before the kettle screams, I lift it from the heat and tip the steaming liquid into the press, watching the water rise and darken. From the stack of books on our shelf, I take my Bible, journal, pen, and whatever other book I’m reading (currently Glimpses of Grace by Madeleine L’Engle) and set them on our old tree stump-turned-end table, a faithful fixture next to my reading chair. The ticking clock perched on top of the corner shelf reminds me that this sacred moment will pass quickly–and yet should not be rushed.

I return to the kitchen, and press down the coffee grounds, pour the black gold into my mug, add a splash of half-n-half, and retreat to the chair.

Coffee begins the rhythm of my mornings. It is my invitation to pause, read, pray, and reflect before the busyness begins. As one who thrives on structure and organization, I appreciate this strong taste of predictability, this daily cup of time dedicated to quiet(er) conversations with Jesus.

In a noisy world that pulls us in a thousand different directions where we’ll open and close countless mental tabs during our 17 or so hours awake, I have discovered the importance of creating a morning rhythm. For me, that’s an intentionally slower pace that begins long before children beckon. Built over two decades, this starting ritual allows me to center my thoughts, confess and give thanks to our Creator, listen to the leading of the Spirit, and remember anew that “in Him we live and move and have our being.”

After coffee, I will run or work out, after which (and sometimes before) children will waken. There will be no return to this kind of solitude before the alarm nudges me awake tomorrow and welcomes me to another day.

Do your days have a rhythm or starting ritual of sorts? If so, what does that look like?