Living Diary: EG Collection 

I don’t wake up to an alarm.

I put that blaring apparatus to sleep, many moons back.
And no—I don’t mean today’s endless ringtone options with bird songs and waterfall loops.
I’m talking about the old-school kind.
Dismissed it like a bad habit I outgrew.

Glad I learned my body had its own silent alarm—
and I prefer to greet the day, not wrestle it.

Because truly—WHY?
Why would anyone willingly wake up to an assault?
That’s not a call to rise—
that’s a “let me yank your soul clean outta sleep
and throw you straight into anxiety.”
No thank you.

Now, it’s my internal rhythm that gently tugs me from sleep—
a quiet agreement between me and the sunrise.
It shows up slow.
I show up soft.

I open one eye just enough to see
if the good Lord saw fit to give me another sunrise.
He did?
Then I thank Him,
stretch like a well-fed cat,
and rise without a fight.

The light?
Still negotiating.
I don’t invite it in until I’m ready.
Dim is a love language.

Feet touch the floor.
Bed gets made.
That’s right—don’t leave our past lying around like that.

Only then… the reward.
Coffee. Black.
No sugar. No chatter. No compromise.

Some mornings, it’s a devotional.
Other mornings, it’s just a conversation with God.

Because showing up softly
is the gentlest way to remind the world:

“I did me first.”