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  • Sonya Leigh Anderson

Spirit Hours

Photo by Guzmán Barquín on Unsplash

Kyle and I were both up thinking and praying last night. This is not unusual. He alternates between thrashing and snoring. I move restlessly from side to side, continuously readjusting pillows. Nights like this it’s always hard to discern which of us is waking the other. Or if it’s both. Or maybe, some nights, it’s neither. Not our own turning at all, but the movement, instead, of Holy Spirit.

Because last night, we both sensed the Spirit.

He was thinking about family. Complicated stories. Parents, and siblings, and prodigal sons. A brother in treatment, a baby on the way. Children raised in the broken love of desperate parents. Our own sons, too.

Last night, before bed, I talked to my mom on the phone, and she made this comment about my husband. “I’ve been noticing Kyle is a fixer.”

I laughed out loud. So true, and no kidding.

So maybe last night he started out fixing. But somewhere in the dark hours of not-quite-morning something shifted. I wasn’t sure what time it was when he finally got up, taking a pillow, and his favorite quilt. At least two hours before my own rising, given the fact that the coffee was cold.

I’d been awake, too. Thinking and praying. Not so noble as my husband’s musing. But just as pressing. And Spirit-infused. Thoughts of a book, nearing release, and how God will use it. Decisions I’m making about a target audience, and speaking topics, and how best to market. Even in my sleep, I cringe at the thought. But He tells me—ministry, not market. The ministry is mine…

And He shows me other things, too. I remember. Just before Kyle left the room I’d been smiling in the dark. Aware of God’s answer. At peace with His Spirit, and grateful. Dozing…

And then it’s light. Gloomy light of yet one more day with no discernible sunrise. Minnesota spring still tearing its way from the grip of winter. And yet. It’s light in my spirit.

My husband is already working, while I reheat coffee, and open to scriptures hand-picked for me. A bit later, Kyle comes down the stairs, calling the dog for their morning romp. He gives me a look. I ask him, what’s up? And he tells me.

Those pre-dawn hours, so often given to worry. But this time, my thoughts turned to love.

I know. I know.

I smile again with the memory.

A night with the Spirit in the light of this Love.

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