5:07 AM — My eyes pop open.
An unusual time for a Sunday morning. No alarm. No buzzing phone. Just… awake. Wide awake. But I went to bed early, so it’s all good. There’s a purpose in this morning. There’s a ministry ahead. There’s music to prepare. There’s worship to lead.
And there’s gratitude waiting to be noticed.
5:10 AM — A hot shower.
Steam fills the bathroom. The water is perfect. Not lukewarm. Not hesitant. Hot. Reliable. Comforting.
The water heater is working.
What a blessing.
I think for a moment about how different this would be if I were relying on nothing but solar panels and batteries buried under 28 inches of snow that hasn’t begun to melt. No sun. No backup. No mercy.
But today? Hot water.
Thank You, God.
5:17 AM — Quietly slipping into the guest room to get dressed.
I don’t want to wake the family.
It’s 71 degrees. Cozy. Comfortable. Safe. I layer up slowly, grateful for the warmth. The gas-powered radiator system upstairs hums faithfully as it has for years.
No drama. No outage. No flickering.
Just warmth.
Thank You, God.
5:30 AM — Downstairs.
I grab my scarf. My keys. My coat.
I step outside to the elderly Expedition parked in the driveway. (My bride, as always, gets the only usable spot in the garage. As it should be.)
Ungloved left hand punches in the door code.
The buttons feel like ice.
The truck cranks.
It starts.
Praise God.
I turn on both heating systems and run back inside.
5:31 AM — My fingertips are screaming.
Tingling. Burning. Aching.
What in the world?
I was outside for 35 seconds.
That’s all it took.
5:32 AM — Thermostat check.
Set at 70 degrees.
Room temperature: 61 degrees
I bump it to 73 degrees.
Fireplace on.
Grateful again.
5:34 AM — Coffee.
Fill the machine. Hit start. Dig through the pantry for a protein bar.
Another small mercy.
5:36 AM — Coffee in hand, standing in front of the fireplace.
Heat on my face. Warmth in my bones.
I sit down and pull up the worship set list.
This is why I’m up.
Keys for the worship team.
Songs that will point hearts heavenward.
Thank You, God, for letting me do this.
6:07 AM — Time to go.
Layer up.
Phone check.
Weather: 0 degrees.
Windchill: -25 degrees.
Now my fingers make sense.
6:08 AM — Can’t find my wool hat.
6:09 AM — Hat found.
Balance phone. Water bottle. Gloves.
Lesson learned.
6:10 AM — In the truck.
Toasty.
Hat off.
Phone connected.
Worship playlist streaming through the speakers.
Music fills the cabin.
Heaven meets horsepower.
6:35 AM — On the road.
Snow-packed streets.
Black ice.
Blowing drifts.
And I’m safe.
Great tires.
Good traction.
Hoses that haven’t cracked.
Seals that still seal.
An engine that hums.
A heater that works.
A windshield that defrosts.
A vehicle that protects.
Thank You, God.
6:45 AM — Church.
Warm.
Bright.
Welcoming.
Soundcheck begins.
First downbeat.
First chord.
First note.
Another Sunday. Another gift.
Another chance to praise.
And somewhere between 5:07 AM and 6:45 AM, it hits me.
All of it.
Every single piece.
My phone that woke me.
The electricity that charged it.
The water heater that cleaned me.
The gas that warmed my house.
The fireplace that comforted me.
The coffee maker that served me.
The gasoline that powered my truck.
The rubber in my tires.
The petroleum in my hoses.
The synthetic seals in my engine.
The insulation in my walls.
The wiring in my home.
The plastics, polymers, fuels, fabrics, and fibers that quietly carried me through a brutal winter morning.
All of it.
From God.
All of it.
Through fossil fuels.
The very things so many on the Left love to demonize.
The very things they’d like to regulate into oblivion.
The very things they pretend we can live without.
Not this morning.
Not at zero degrees.
Not at a negative twenty-five degree windchill.
Not when life, safety, warmth, and worship are on the line.
This morning, fossil fuels didn’t destroy my life.
They sustained it.
They enabled it.
They protected it.
They blessed it.
And behind every molecule, every process, every discovery, every innovation—
Was God.
The Author.
The Provider.
The Sustainer.
Yes, I’m grateful for heat.
I’m grateful for hot water.
I’m grateful for transportation.
I’m grateful for technology.
I’m grateful for comfort.
But I’m most grateful for His plan of salvation.
For grace.
For mercy.
For forgiveness.
For purpose.
For calling.
For hope beyond this frozen world.
Today, I’m saying thank You out loud.
Not in theory.
Not in slogans.
Not in politics.
But in lived experience.
At 5:07 AM.
At 6:45 AM.
At zero degrees.
With aching fingers and a full heart.
Thank You, God.
I don’t want to miss it.
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