In the Cool of the Morning.

It’s May 31st, 2025, and I’m down to the last two pages of my 48th journal. By tonight, I’ll be starting my 49th.


I didn’t plan it. But somehow, it feels like God did.


Last night I was up late again, doing what I’ve done many nights before: trying to push through in prayer. Midnight to 3 a.m. was a blur of effort—spiritual striving, whispered prayers, mental checklists of what I thought I should be doing to “reach” God. A kind of reaching that, deep down, was more about performance than presence.


Eventually, I gave in. Fell asleep.


It wasn’t until after 7 a.m.—when I finally got out of bed, bleary-eyed and heading for coffee—that something unexpected happened. No music playing, no candles lit, no “quiet time” curated. Just me, the kitchen, and the whisper of Scripture slipping into my heart like it had been waiting all night:


Genesis 3:8 – “And they heard the sound of the Lord God walking in the garden in the cool of the day…”


It landed soft, not heavy. Like an invitation I hadn’t known I was being offered. And then, as I stood there holding my mug, I heard the Holy Spirit say:

“Except for you, it’s the opposite. That’s the time we most enjoy being with you—in worship, in song, in spirit.”


I was stunned. Not by the poetry of it, but by the honesty. All night I had pushed and performed. But here, in the stillness of morning—when I had nothing left to give, when I wasn’t even trying—God met me.


Not in the striving. In the surrender.


And that’s when it hit me: I’ve been relating to God like He needs me to prove something. As if deep prayer only happens through effort. But He reminded me that the point isn’t performance—it’s presence. He actually likes being with me. Not because I do it right. Just because I show up. Especially when I stop trying so hard.

This morning was quiet. Gentle. And real.



Then, another verse stirred in my spirit—Ecclesiastes 3:



“To everything there is a season… a time of war, and a time of peace.”

It felt like a gentle commentary on the night before.



I had a dream during that sleep—there was war, people running, hiding. I even had a gun. I used it. It was intense, a little chaotic. When I woke, I didn’t feel scared, just aware. Like something had been revealed.



And again, I heard the Spirit say:



“Don’t be afraid.”

Then Jesus whispered:

“Learn to enjoy my rest.”

That phrase—enjoy my rest—has been circling me ever since.



Not “take a break.” Not “sit still.” Not even “rest” as a command. But an invitation to enjoy it. To find joy in simply being. To stop performing. To learn how to let love in when I’m not earning it.



Because this is what I’m discovering:

Prayer isn’t measured in effort.

God’s nearness isn’t triggered by spiritual striving.

He doesn’t need my perfect discipline—He wants my honest presence.



I used to think dreams were just messages or metaphors. But now I think sometimes they’re mirrors. That war dream? I think it was a reflection of how hard I’ve been fighting in the spirit—and maybe unnecessarily so. I think it was God’s way of saying, “You’ve been in a season of war. But now, it’s time to shift.”



There’s a time for war. And a time for peace.

There’s a time for intercession. And a time for coffee and quiet honesty.

And sometimes, the holiest thing you can do is stop trying to be holy and just… be with Him.



So tonight, I’ll finish my 48th journal. I’ll open number 49.

In Scripture, the number 49 leads to 50—the year of Jubilee. A time of rest, freedom, restoration. Maybe that’s prophetic. Maybe it’s just timing. But either way, it feels sacred.



This morning taught me something:

God doesn’t just meet us in fire, or thunder, or 3 a.m. prayers.



Sometimes He comes walking softly, in the cool of the morning.

Right when you’ve stopped trying.

Right when you’re just making coffee.

And He says, “This is our favorite time.”



Not because you’re impressive.

But because you’re finally still.

And here’s the truth I wish every believer knew:



This kind of rest, this kind of communion—it’s for all of us.

Not just the exhausted. Not just the intercessors. Not just the ones who’ve hit their limit.



Even our leaders need this. Especially them.



Pastors, prophets, elders, team leads—we were never meant to carry the weight of ministry alone. The body of Christ is just that: a body. A community. Meant to rotate. To breathe. To rest together.



Imagine what could happen if we created real rhythms of grace in our churches and homes.

If we built rosters for teams and leaders—not just for function, but for spiritual health.

If leadership wasn’t a stage to stand on but a circle to share.



So everyone—every pastor, every intercessor, every tired soul—gets to taste this kind of rest.

This morning kind of nearness.

This cool-of-the-day kind of love.



Let’s make space for that.



Together.

PS.

I have a short book of prayers to start your day at

Please consider getting yourself a copy and sharing it too 😀