Monday mornings at 6 I can hear the soft, deep murmur of their voices as they speak to one another and begin to pray. It’s one of my favorite things to hear; there is stillness in the house, peace in their interaction. I pray, my face flat against my pillow, for Jesus to come and be with them, for the Spirit to fill every corner of this dwelling, for life to wash over them as they meet together.
It’s so sweet the way God arranged this. Life causes more life, early mornings of prayer encourage more prayer and more experiences with the sunrise. I hear my husband pray with his dear friends and I think, Oh, how I want that. It’s the beautiful chain reaction of intimacy, and I believe it’s the way He wanted it from the very beginning.
Last week in the middle of a little fight I told Travis that part of my desire to engage in quiet moments of prayer, reading the word, meditating and memorizing is in order to show him that I love him. It’s a way to encourage him without the words slipping straight out of my mouth. It’s in the act and the love that pours out of it that brings me closer to his side. Without it we shrivel up and forget all the goodness.
I could never have imagined what this season in Fayetteville was going to look like. I couldn’t have known what family God was bringing us into, what hope and peace and restoration He was going to provide through the people I interact with on an almost-daily basis. We’ve walked through complicated pregnancies and debt and poverty and sick children, and we’ve come out with more thankfulness. We’ve come out with refreshed hope in Jesus and in His Bride.
The men are gone from the house now, but the sweetness of their time together lingers in the air like perfume. I imagine it is a truly pleasing aroma to the King who hears their cries. The sun shining through the sheer curtains on our windows appears different on Monday mornings, and deep breaths resonate from my quiet body as I lay here and wait for Travis to come say, “Good morning, love.”