There’s something about early mornings, about a silent house, about sitting in the kitchen with a fresh cup of coffee as the world around me sleeps. Perhaps this should spell “sleep,” but after a few weeks of getting up in the neighborhood of 4 AM, I’m finding myself bundled up in my thick robe and fuzzy slippers, huddled around a cup of steaming coffee by the light of my laptop at the kitchen table, even though it’s a Saturday morning.

I find myself, alone but for the ticking of the kitchen appliances and the humming of the wood stove, cherishing the silent sleeping sounds that are drifting from the baby monitor. My brain started humming halfway through the first cup of coffee, listing off all the things that could be done before anyone upstairs even thinks about getting up: toys put away, brownies made, blogs read, dishes put away, laundry folded. The list sprouted wings and started flying around the room, adding things as though magnetized. What about that essay I’ve been meaning to edit and get sent off? Or that friend I really should write? Or the thank you notes that need finished up and mailed? Or…or…or…

The problem with all of that – with the lists and the grand plans to make this quiet morning time into a highly productive whirlwind of efficiency – is that none of those things are the reason I wanted to stay up. I could go back to bed and have all those things facing me when I woke up, and somehow throughout the day, I would get them done (or not, and it wouldn’t matter). This early morning time, when I’m still and silent, is best given first to God. This might be the only time of my day when I can give him my full attention, and doesn’t he deserve that? Doesn’t he deserve at least that, after all he’s done for me?

So excuse me while I get another cup of coffee and get my Magnificat. I have a date with Abba.