on being a morning person.

{photo via here}

The past two mornings, I've woken up in a panic. My alarm (due to both human error and bizarre malfunction) failed to go off, giving me exactly 20 minutes to get it together and get to work.

Miraculously, I've made it on time all week, but it hasn't been pretty.

Rushed mornings, I firmly believe, make for rushed days. Rushed, unappreciated, give-me-caffeine-before-I-pass-out days.

And I don't like those.

So last night, I set two alarms, and even though my last glimpse at the clock showed 11:30, I bravely set my cell phone for 6:00.

I don't know why this is a milestone for me. All of my growing up years, I woke up, on my own, no later than 6:30. I was thrilled the day I got to buy my very own boom box with radio alarm clock. I would get up, take a shower, listen to my dad sing the breakfast song, and cheerily join the family at the table, ready for school 30 minutes earlier than necessary.

Dad and I — the notorious morning people of the family — would giggle as Mom and Chet dragged themselves out of bed. We would look at each other over our subsequent sections of the Democrat, co-conspirators in the "let's-be-as-cheerful-as-possible" plan designed to make our breakfast partners miserable.

Somewhere along the line, though, I dropped off the morning bandwagon.

In college, I rose earlier than most of my classmates, determined to eat a hot breakfast in the cafeteria.

As an intern in Birmingham, I drove to work 30 minutes early to beat the morning rush hour.

Prior to marriage, I lived at home, still getting up early and eating breakfast with Dad.

That leaves, of course, that fateful day nearly two years ago, when I married a night owl.

I won't blame Jordan entirely. I'll also pass the buck to our ridiculously close location to work and school; getting up early almost isn't necessary anymore.

But recently, I realized that maybe waking up 20 minutes before heading to work isn't such a good idea. Maybe running a brush through my hair and racing out the door with a couple of Pop-tarts is more college co-ed than young professional.

Today, my alarm clock went off at 6:00.

My second alarm clock went off at 6:15.

I woke up and headed downstairs, peeking outside to see not one single light on outside. It was quiet, peaceful.

And, for the first time in what seems like weeks (and, in the spirit of full disclosure, may have actually been weeks), I sat down for quiet time, soaking in the Scriptures and breathing in the Spirit.

My body and soul couldn't have been more grateful.

I got ready for work slowly, deliberately.

When Jordan groggily woke up an hour later, I was fully dressed and rather obnoxiously chipper. It was one of those moments where I could feel myself becoming my father.

This morning, I have gotten more work done in two hours than I sometimes get done in an entire afternoon.

Tomorrow may not be this good. The thrill of a quiet morning may not hold as much joy every day, day after day, for weeks upon weeks on end.

But this day, the day that matters, it did.

Today I was a morning person, and it feels good.