A Different Kind of Fasting
It was 4 degrees above zero when I backed out of the garage this morning. Part of my drive to the House of Prayer always takes me down a street called Old Sante Fe Trail, which I believe was actually part of the trail that so many settlers headed out on long ago. Every time I feel the slightest twinge of discomfort about leaving the house before 6 AM, I try and imagine their trip on the same road. Then I reach over and turn on the heated seats.
When I arrived, the lobby was full of young people in parkas and goofy looking winter hats. They gathered by the door bravely until one announced "Ok, let's go..." and bravely they went into the cold morning. This was the Night Watch, and they were just leaving after spending the night before the Lord.
I was reminded of the price these people pay. I backed out of a garage in a car with a relatively warm interior. They leave the House of Prayer at 6 AM every morning to go chip ice off of their windshields so they can drive home and try and sleep while their apartment mates bang around getting ready for classes. Stuart Greaves, the director of the Night Watch once told me "You never really get used to being nocturnal. I stay a little tired and can sleep at the drop of a hat. It's a price to pay so that the fire on the altar doesn't go out."
Deep calls to deep in the roar of your waterfalls; all your waves and breakers have swept over me. By day the LORD directs his love, at night his song is with me - a prayer to the God of my life.
I'm thankful to these people who call out for God's song in the night. Rest well, Night Watchers.