In the Quiet of the Night

I’m a bona fide night owl. Most nights, my biological clock encourages me to stay up until 1:00 a.m. or later. We live in a relatively quiet neighborhood. Usually by the time I crawl into bed, familiar daily noises are silent. I’ve learned to embrace those moments before falling asleep. My brain is set free to think, roam free, and create.

In the quiet of the night …

The clock on the first floor softly chimes the hour with the same tune my grandmother’s clock played—a part of my childhood. It reminds me that time doesn’t stand still; it shouldn’t be wasted.

My husband’s slow breathing as he slumbers next to me is comforting. I’m not alone. I thank God for blessing me with this man who loves me, takes care of me, and supports my dreams.

I’m grateful for my comfortable, warm, and clean bed. I think about the men, women, and children living on the streets of Seattle. Have they found shelter for the night? We financially support ministries who are there to help, but could we—should we—be doing more?

I think about the e-mail from a friend who ministers to children living on the streets in Peru. He and his staff provide shelter, food, education, health care, and lots of love. One of his “children” disappeared a few days ago. As they search for her, there’s concern she’s been taken by sex traffickers. I pray for her, hoping they’ll soon find her. I’m thankful that my own daughters are lying asleep—safe in their own homes.

A police helicopter hovers overhead, disturbing my thoughts with a loud pft-pft-pft—sounding close enough to land on our rooftop. It doesn’t leave, but continues to circle above. The pilot must be searching for someone. My imagination gets the best of me. I think about what it would feel like to be that someone. Or live in a country at war—fearful that your home may be attacked at any moment.

In the quiet of the night, I pray … for family, friends, strength, patience, wisdom, and direction.

And I listen for God’s voice. It’s in the quiet that I can most easily hear him.

Dawn