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“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” I tell my dog Archie, as he slowly creeps his way up towards my head, hoping that he will be able to pounce on top of me and convince me to finally get out of bed.
He looks at me as though he knows that I don’t even believe the words that I just spoke to him, and proceeds to jump on top of me anyways—such is life. Perhaps he is right. Maybe I don’t always believe the words that I say. Sometimes my words are merely the arrows of hope that I shoot into the sky day after day, as I yearn for any sign that maybe, just maybe, I am a real archer.
While he is looking down at me—his tail wagging in suspense—I notice that my alarm clock is about to yell at me and tell me that it is about time for me to yield to its supreme authority over my mornings. I frantically move to stop the alarm from going off, knowing full well that the sound of the bells ringing inside of it will just add to my overall displeasure.
A few months back I decided to get a vintage Westclox travel alarm clock. While I appreciate its mechanical simplicity, that doesn’t mean that it is any less abrasive to my ears than the sound of wind chimes on my phone. Actually, it is probably more abrasive. There is something about it, though, that I appreciate.
After a few minutes of giving myself an internal pep talk, I eventually make my way to the coffee maker and proceed to ration out today’s portion. How many scoops should I do? I start with five, but after looking at them, I quickly realize that perhaps the amount of coffee inside of the filter doesn’t fully correspond to my current level of drowsiness.
“Let’s make it six, just for good measure.”
As the coffee drips down into the carafe below, I can’t help but wonder how often I do similar things in life.
How often do I just react to my situation as opposed to being proactive?
Thinking about my drowsiness, I remind myself that I was indeed up until the wee small hours of the morning, stuck scrolling through Instagram Reels that never seem to stop demanding my attention.
Instead of thinking about things that really matter, I quickly lose sight of what it is that I am really supposed to be doing. Last night, I got into bed so that I could go to sleep. What use is going to bed if I don’t actually close my eyes for longer than a blink?
Maybe the truth is that my ability to stay strong is about equal to that of the coffee: it really depends on someone, or something, else outside of me.
Instead of being the one that pours the freshly boiled water onto the coffee grounds, I often choose to be passive. What would my life look like if I finally chose to be the brewer instead of the one being brewed?
Perhaps it is worth thinking about how God has called all of us to be proactive in following Him. My coffee will eventually run out, but His love will not.
Maybe, just maybe, that is something worth getting up and out of bed for.