It’s healing to find refuge in a quiet place amidst the busyness of the normal pace of life.
One December, we snuck away to a mountainside retreat in the Smoky Mountains right outside of Asheville, North Carolina. As we drove along seemingly endless winding roads, making my belly rumble with every turn, I was assured that THIS place would serve our family well, being so remote and hidden from the rest of the world.
A small waterfall with the accompanying sounds of running water filled my attention as I sat peacefully on the porch swing overlooking the steep incline and surrounding whimsy. This house was a gem of a find, with eclectic thrift store treasures lovingly and intentionally placed in all of the right places, right down to this colorful coffee cup that I happened to grab for my morning quiet time.
With the crisp early morning air filling my lungs and beautiful puffs of white clouds wafting above me, I grabbed this shot. I lifted my coffee to take a sip and saw the clouds and pergola above me reflecting so crisply in the cup.
This quiet, isolated moment of peace and escape was a gift.
Moments like these give me the space to be present and reconnect my head and my heart.
This picture reminds me that I can stay strong if I take the time – protect the time I need – to stop, take notice, and reflect on what’s most important to my heart.
“Not a Morning Person” by Jason Kotecki. 24 x 24. Oil on canvas. Original is SOLD 🔴 Shop this art!
Do elk have the choice of being a morning person?
Are there some elk, hidden away in the woods, “sleeping in?” Some who stayed up late contemplating the universe, or were up all night partying with other woodland creatures?
Alas, I assume that elk are wired the way they are wired, and they don’t have the choice of whether they are a night elk or a morning elk.
No, but we do.
I used to be a night person. I rolled my eyes at the people who annoyingly championed the virtue of early rising. I loved staying up to work on art when the world was quiet. I’d go to bed way past midnight and somehow only need a few hours to tackle the next day with a full supply of energy.
That, of course, was before kids. Nowadays, when nine o’clock rolls around I am dragging like a wet, rolled-up area rug. If I do summon the energy to stay up a smidge past midnight, my next few days are completely wrecked.
A few years back, I read the book “Miracle Morning” and developed a new habit. Nowadays, I am up before 6 am (unthinkable back in my youth).
I guess that makes me a morning person.
The war rages on between the pious morning people and the obstinate night owls. Although typically vehemently opposed to one another, both sides seem to talk about liking the quiet, which is, of course, present both very early in the morning and very late at night.
Our souls crave solitude from the noise that dominates our daily lives.
We all need to carve out some quiet time. The when probably isn’t as important as what we do with it.
My life transformed when I became a morning person, and not because I decided to get up early in the morning, but because of what I did with that time.
Back in the day, I used the silence to work, read, or endlessly scurry down internet rabbit holes.
These days, my routine looks different.
I pour a fresh cup of coffee, light a candle, and plant myself in my prayer chair, which once served as the place where I rocked all three of my kids. I read the Bible. I journal. I pray. Sometimes I listen to music or read from a devotional. Other times, I just sit there, in the quiet, before the kids are up and the world turns on for the day, listening for the still, small voice of God. It is bliss. I never thought I’d ever actually enjoy getting up this early, but now I wouldn’t miss it.
It’s a little oasis in a desert filled with an endless parade of noisy marching bands and riled-up slot machines blinking and begging us to pull their lever. The marching bands are all the outside forces trying to distract us. The slot machines are the illuminated rectangles in our purses and pockets that we constantly refresh, lured in by the promise of that oh-so-gratifying hit of dopamine when we see something that surprises us, delights us, entertains us, or enrages us.
This is a challenge to examine our habits.
Do we get up early merely to have a longer treadmill on which to sprint, attacking a to-do list that never ends?
Do we stay up late bingeing content that temporarily satisfies but does nothing to uplift our souls or make us better humans?
Do we subconsciously avoid silence because it makes us feel anxious in the immediate gratification era in which we live?
Silence feels weird.
Silence feels unproductive.
Silence feels boring.
And yet, maybe the elk are up early to bask in silence.
I’ve always been a believer. I’ve not always been a morning person.
But spending an hour a day in silence with God changed everything.
