There is something intimate about rising before the sun can kiss the sky good morning. It feels almost secretive to stare into the dusky, unlit sky. It feels almost like you are pelting a fast one on those obtrusive rays of lights. And yet when the beeping lifts me from slumber, my entire body cripples with complaint, desiring the warm confines of fuzzy blankets and a welcoming elephant pillow. Fighting the pull to curl into a ball and close my eyes tight, I dragged my warm body from the top bunk down to the chilly ceramic tiles, through the freezing [for Colombia] air, training a tangled caboose of blankets, out the bedroom door, into the common room in front of the big window. Still flickering city lights trailed up the back edge of a somewhat-mountain, motos slid down the street, a bus or several rickety-rocked down another street. One layer of fuzzy blanket spread across the frigid floors, next a face-down layer of Maggie, topped off with a prayer/snuggle/multi-use blanket layer. And this is how five a.m. began.

Usually I roll out of sleep around six thirty, but this weekend a small voice [how every bad story begins] urged me to give God my first fruits of the day. Apparently my six thirty first fruits aren’t quite sufficient enough, and so five it is. In all trueness, this is all in effort to lean into the Savior, not just leaning, more so laying across His lap in complete dependency. He is my sustainment and I wanted to go back to the deep roots of me and He. The whole wooing thing really got me. And I want to be fully in tune with my Jesus. A out of tune guitar is functional, but it’s not a great sound, and when God wants to pick me up and play a song on me, I will be a glorifying melody- but I need to start at His feet to be ready.

Feet, that’s why got me into this mess of five a.m.. There was a team here and I delighted in the privilege of leading worship. I also felt the urge to start praying, mid-worship and boy oh boy did I pray; “Yahweh bring us to our knees every morning, humbled before You. You are so sovereign and so good. You are so so good. Let our lives, humble and unholy as they are, be a sacrifice that You delight in. Let our lives be a fragrance to You. Let our lives be kisses to Your feet.” Well, ever since then those words that somehow escaped my lips have been popping in my head, particularly the kisses to you feet part there at the end. So back to the roots I needed to go. Five a.m., my very earliest first fruits. Pre-sunshine. The cold secret of the night. Meeting the Savior out in the common room on the cold floor and giving Him everything I can muster up. Quiet mornings in His presence, waking to be with Him and watching Him paint the sky.

I cannot marvel enough at how holy and still so chill this Savior I have is. It seems an odd combination, but I know quite for certain that I could not dare enter Queen Elizabeth’s throne room in my wholly favorite socks and pajamas. To even kiss her hand I’m sure there are rules and tests and a level of tidiness and pristine levels of humanness one must reach. But here I am, with my multi-use blanket draped over my head, raggedy t-shirt and pajama shirt, kneeling on the floor with sleep still in my eyes and He welcomes me. How great is it that the King is willing to just let us in and kickback with us, pajamas and all. That’s a mind blowing concept right there. Important reminder, yes, He is super rad, but He is not just some hang loose surfer guy. He is God. King of Kings, Elohim, Yahweh, Savior, sweet Jesus, Prince of Peace, Elohay Mikarov. There is respect in that name. Do not forget who we go before. The holiest, the most sovereign.

So I am three or four days in. I’m committing though Saturday, but maybe it will be the month, or even a regular habit. So far, nothing wild. Just the exhilarating idea that every morning I get up and start with my sweet Savior. Sometimes I fall asleep, but I make sure I invite Him to snuggle, too. I am not exhausted or unexhausted. But I think I’m kissing the toes, which is exactly where I want to be.

Here’s to five a.m.