Formation Happens in the Dark
What my dad’s early morning routine taught me about faith and formation.
2 min read
I used to wake up and see the living room light already on. The coffee was brewed, and my dad was sitting on the couch with his Bible open. Same spot, same time, every morning. Some mornings, I was just getting to bed as he was waking up, which probably says a lot about both of us, but that’s beside the point.
But every morning, there he was. And the thing is, if he were still alive, I don’t think he’d see it as a big deal. Because he wasn’t doing it to impress anyone. There was no audience. Just him, his Bible, and the quiet. And in a house that was often loud, complicated, and unpredictable, that time was sacred.
To be clear, my dad wasn’t a pastor and he definitely wasn’t a theologian. He was just a man who believed God was real and that meeting with Him daily actually mattered. That routine didn’t make him perfect, but it made him steady. And looking back now, I think that might’ve been the more impressive thing.
I didn’t realize it then, but I was being formed by those mornings. By the quiet, the discipline, and the slow, unseen work of showing up. He never made a big deal about it. Never told me I had to do it too (though I’m sure he would’ve loved that). He just did it. Every day. For years. Through good seasons and hard ones, through cancer treatments and eventually, toward the end of his life, when getting up at all was its own act of courage.
That early morning faithfulness shaped me more than any sermon ever could.
These days, I try to do the same. Not perfectly, and not always at 6 a.m. Most mornings it happens when I get to my office, sit with my coffee, open the Scriptures, and try to be still. Some mornings I do it with my girls. Some mornings I forget or get distracted. But every time I do it, I think about my dad. Not just in a nostalgic way, but in a directional one. Like a compass pointing north.
He gave me a picture of the kind of man I want to be. The kind of man who walks with God quietly, consistently, and without fanfare.
That kind of faith sticks with you.
That kind of man sticks with you.
These days, I try to do the same. Not perfectly. Not always at 6AM. But I sit with my coffee, open the Scriptures, and try to be still. Some mornings, I do it with my girls. Some mornings, I forget or get distracted. But I think about my dad often.
Not just in a nostalgic way, but in a directional way. Like a compass.
He gave me a picture of the kind of man I want to be. Someone who walks with God quietly, consistently, and without fanfare.
That kind of faith sticks with you.
That kind of man sticks with you.
These days, I try to do the same. Not perfectly. Not always at 6AM. But I sit with my coffee, open the Scriptures, and try to be still. Some mornings, I do it with my girls. Some mornings, I forget or get distracted. But I think about my dad often.
Not just in a nostalgic way, but in a directional way. Like a compass.
He gave me a picture of the kind of man I want to be. Someone who walks with God quietly, consistently, and without fanfare.
That kind of faith sticks with you.
That kind of man sticks with you.