the wee hours

My eyes spring open. I squint toward the clock...6 a.m. I hear something. What is that sound? It's silence. It's peace and quiet. It lures me from my bed. There is no blaring television. There is no toddlers asking "why". There are no questions, no orders, no demands. At this moment, no one needs my attention. No one but me.

I can take a walk. I can notice things in nature that I am oblivious to throughout my busy day. I can sit and enjoy a cup of coffee, lost in thought without disruption. I can write those thoughts down by the dim orange light of day break. I can spare a moment for prayer to thank the Lord for all the wonderful blessings in my life. I can do whatever I want to do.

The rest of the hours of my day seem to belong to someone or something else: My children, my husband, my friends, my chores and Mr. Sandman claims what's left. But now that I have forced myself to become an early riser, the wee hours of the morning are mine, and only mine. The rest of my world is sleeping.

The times that I am unable to tear myself from the sheets before something or someone insists that I do -- I spend my day feeling that something is missing. That something was stolen from me. Sometimes I'm not quite sure what has thrown me off my game...or has caused this imbalance. Then I remember that I didn't get my wee hours to myself before distributing the parts of me out to everyone else. And I am certain that I don't want that to happen again.

Pardon me while I go set my alarm.