The Cat Ate My Sermon

I am not a morning person. Never have been, never will be. I take after my grandfather. I remember vacations to Wisconsin as a child, staying up late watching Johnny Carson with grandpa. My grandmother had long since turned her back on the waking world. She'd be up before dawn. He'd stay awake until 3:00 or 4:00, reading in bed until finally drifting away. He'd be up around noon the next day. No wonder they had separate bedrooms. I hated school, having to get up hours before dawn, just to be ready on the bus stop by 7:00. College and seminary were fine when I could choose classes after 10:00 a.m. The occasional 8:00 was a killer. Summer vacations were delightful. Staying up late watching movies, devouring books, composing my stories and my songs, wandering outside to gaze at the starts. Something about the night was magical to me. Quiet, distant. I could be alone with my thoughts. Of course, waking up before dawn, I have found that it is still dark. Imagine