The Hour I Did Not Choose

Are you more of a night or morning person?

What a 3:30 A.M. Walk Taught Me About Being Instead of Doing

People ask whether I am a night person or a morning person.
The simple answer is that I wake early.
The deeper answer is that morning keeps returning me to myself. One winter Friday around the year 2000, that lesson arrived two hours ahead of schedule.

I. The Disturbance

At the time, I taught at Morse Middle School for the Gifted.
My mornings were dependable: wake at 4:30, green tea, peanut-butter toast,
out the door by 5:30 for a three-mile prayer walk to school.

But that morning the air felt different.

Light snow.
Low moon.
Stillness where there should have been movement.
Even the cemetery I passed each day—usually a reminder that life is short and meant to be lived—felt too quiet.

Where was everyone?

I checked the lobby clock at the bank on Appleton Avenue.
This was before cell phones.

3:30 a.m.

Not 5:30.
Not even close.

And somewhere back in the house, my alarm was going off to a room that expected me to still be there.
I had stepped out ahead of the day’s script—slipped past what was supposed to happen—
and without meaning to, left a small mystery behind as I walked straight into a larger one.

I almost turned back.
Almost.
But God does not make mistakes.
There was a reason I was out in that hour.

II. The Misreading

Across the street, a van pulled into the BP.
A woman jumped out, pounding on the locked door.

I stepped toward her — certain this was the assignment,
the problem I had been woken to solve.

She got back in the van and drove away.
No crisis.
No mission.
Just me in falling snow, trying to understand why I was there.

Was I supposed to help someone?
Was someone supposed to help me?
No robed figure appeared.
Only silence.

III. The Revelation

Then, slowly, the truth settled:

Maybe God just wanted time with me.

No task.
No performance.
Just presence.

So I walked.
I meandered.
I prayed.
I sang.
I let the snow and the quiet work on me.

When I reached the school, I stood for a few minutes with the social-studies teacher who always arrived early.
His ritual was simple: sit in his car with the morning paper until the doors opened, easing himself into the day.
In his own quiet way, he was a morning person too—anchoring himself before the noise began.

We did not talk much.
Just two teachers in the cold, sharing a bit of silence before the building woke up.

Later that morning, I told the story to Ms. Ellis, a strong woman of God.
She threw her head back and laughed:

“Do not ever say you do not have time for God.”

She was right.
I was not tired that day.
Something in me had rested.
Something had begun listening again.

Why Morning Matters to Me

I call myself a morning person —
not because it is virtuous,
but because morning is the only hour that does not demand achievement.

Morning reminds me that:

• being comes before doing
• breath is gift, not payment
• identity is received, not constructed

It brings me back to level one:

Be here.
Let the day lead.
Stop trying to become what you already are.

A Question for You

So yes, I am a morning person.
But the real question is this:

When do you remember who you are?
What hour — light or dark — returns you to yourself?

Find that hour.
Sit inside it.
Let it do its quiet work.

There is more light in us than we realize —
especially when we rise before we meant to.

Tags: morning person, spiritual reflection, faith story, quiet time, contemplative life, being vs doing, prayer walk, presence over productivity, Christian living