I am NOT a morning person. I can't seem to get my body moving in the early hours, and when my son wakes me up each day, (yes, he wakes me up, I almost never use an alarm,) I drag through morning routine. I'm not even really a coffee drinker, so I don't get that boost to help jolt my eyes open.


On those rare mornings, like this one, where circumstances work out just right that I am the first one awake, me, not the noisy, lovable two year old, I get to experience that special type of peace and majesty that God seems to share with us only in the wee hours of the morning. (For me, that's any time before 7 am, just so we're clear.)

Last night, I developed a migraine. I don't get them often, and usually, with my low tolerance for medication, some excedrin will cure it pretty quickly. Not so this time. I was running a temp, feeling sick to my stomach from the brightness of the lights that were on in the next room, and the loudness of my husband quietly talking with me. He sent me to bed at 9:30; this is unheard of for a girl who usually goes to bed anytime between 11:30 and 2 am. Consequently, when I woke up at 3:30 to a bird singing outside my window, I was AWAKE. I laid there for another half hour, willing myself back to sleep, telling myself I'd regret getting up when the light of day finally touched my tired eyes. Finally, though, I decided to get up, enjoy the peace and quiet, do my devotions, enjoy an uninterrupted breakfast, and deal with some prep work for chick week. That was two hours ago, and I still feel well-rested, and now, so grateful that I got this time of peace. 

Mornings can be beautiful after all, it seems. :)