My father cleaned offices weeknights.
My mother took the weekend night shifts, as a nurse.
My wife is a night owl. My teen kids too.
I’m happy to get up when it’s early.
I write best when the dawn breaks.
That quiet morning fridge hum is the perfect companion to the scratch of my pencil and clacking keys.

I heard that miracle man, Smith Wigglesworth, used to get up at 4 a.m. and have communion. He then read scripture and prayed for hours. I tried that at 18. It lasted 9 days. Yet, I still saw miracles. In fact, I see them daily as they emerge from their bedrooms – shuffling to the kettle to the rhythm of their own song.

We all have our own song. God sings it over us. Sometimes, we must move double time. Other times, half. Sickness can be rests. Vacations too.

It’s a marvellous thing to see a person attuned and dancing to their cadence of their calling

What’s your rhythm?