The clock said 5:30 a.m. My body said it was too early. Easing into this quiet morning, the Barred owl hooted. Hearing the distinct, “Who cooks for you?” refrain, I listened for the repeat as if to ask him, “And then what happened?” I waited and in rhythm, I heard again, “Who cooks for you?” It seemed a better way to wake than a rooster or my alarm clock. This owl had my attention. I rose.
And then what happened? Good writers answer this question with the right word and the right sentence at the right moment. It was 5:30. Not much is the answer. Waking, begrudgingly, attention was all I had to give at that point. So, I gave it. The owl hooted again.
Life is like that. Curiosity leads us down the path of “then what happened?” But we are not observers of the story, we are the story, participants in the dilemma. Possessing a third person perspective is a nice way to say to our ego, “It’s not me.” Is it so difficult for a man to see where he is and beyond? Building our life into this safety, we relish saying, “I’m glad it’s not me!” We are all egoists.
This separatist sense of self leads our curiosity to the question, “Why doesn’t God?” Well, why doesn’t he? I tell myself, I’m too busy. My day demands my attention.
And God says, “Why doesn’t man?” Why does he revel in the ordinary when the sublime is in reach? Did I not supply him with fullness? Why does he search for more?
The conversation implies more than I am willing to confront. In matters of faith, to be busy is the path of least resistance. Time is a convenient excuse. The Bible answers the question, “And then what happened?” The good book tells me, it is me.
Listening to “Who cooks for you?” and relishing the song, I realized the owl was observing me waking and moving room to room, turning on lights, each of us participating in the dawn, our curiosity dancing. Peaceful, it was a moment to contemplate God’s handiwork, his enormity and his good grace, a morning to be still, to be grateful. This morning exuded a fresh ethos, a new beginning.
My conversation with God is ongoing. My story is full of new beginnings birthed in those reflective, quiet, peaceful mornings. And each beginning follows its own eve, an ending blurred by triumph and failure as the day demands. These mornings are personal. I hear God say, “Deck, why don’t you…?” Unbidden, unable to cloister my thoughts from God, I try and fail again. Beginning always follows an ending.
My conversation with God is history’s conversation, ongoing, as each generation, each soul searches time and misunderstanding, living for what happens next.
And then what happened? The eve gave way to the day.
“Those who have ears to hear, let them hear” (Matthew 11:15).