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 kitchen light already on. The coffee was brewed, and my dad was sitting at the table 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.
He wasn’t doing it to impress anyone—there was no audience. Just him, his Word, and the deafening silence. That was his quiet time. And in a house that was often loud, complicated, and unpredictable… that time was sacred.
My dad wasn’t a pastor. He 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. By the discipline. By the slow, unseen work of showing up.
He never made a big deal about it. Never told me I had to do it too. He just did it. Every day. For years. Through good seasons, hard ones, 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. 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 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.