Touching Holiness

Groan. As my eyes flicker open in the darkness, I realize immediately that it’s not a temporary flicker with the promise of more sleep following a pillow-flip. I’m waking up for good. That kind of flicker. I look over at the digitally-lit numbers: 2:45. Groan.

I lie there a bit hoping that perhaps I’m wrong – maybe I’ll fall back to sleep.

Nope. Grumble.

I slip out of bed and into my robe and slippers, which make a soft scuffle as I plod off to the kitchen to prepare coffee. By the time it’s poured, I’m wide-awake, which helps since I am still mumbling about my sleep being cut short. I’m going to feel like a tired, old dishcloth by afternoon. Mumbling my way to my living room chair, I settle in, cradling the hot cup between my hands.

The only lighting come from night lights, leaving soft shadows enveloping me in the early morning quiet. The pre-dawn kind of quiet. No birds chirping yet. They’re still sleeping. Must be nice.

My thoughts turn to the day. It’s Resurrection Sunday. I feel a wave of gratefulness and the joy in my Savior replace my mumbling. I’m looking forward to sharing the worship due Him with my brothers and sisters in Christ later that morning. But in that darkness, that quiet, with my heart welled with joy, I feel the nudge.

More as a gentle prod than a shove, I try to dismiss it. After all, I went from mumbling to a comfort zone and I’m not eager to leave it, and this prodding was easily identifiable. Through the years, I have felt it before. The sudden unsettling in my spirit. The conviction that something needs to be dealt with.

With my resolve to ignore the interruption, I take a sip of my coffee. As the liquid travels down, I feel the warmth ward off the morning chill. I wonder what the weather will be like today? Another nudge. I welcome another sip of warmth. Oh, I forgot to buy eggs. I hope there’s enough for breakfast. Nudge. Sigh. My resolve isn’t working.

I realize something else that’s equally identifiable. These nudges aren’t going to go away, and I’m amazed at myself for even thinking that I could ignore it. I have more than a little hunch that this early morning rising isn’t a mere happenstance.