“And tell me your name?”
She smiled in my direction, and paused. I looked around, half trying to figure out if she meant me. The others were mostly looking in my direction; she meant me.
“Amy Martin.”
I always use both names, I have no idea why but I do.
“I am Amy Martin.”
She told me where we were in the questions from the homework. We had made it to the question that had asked why there had been a hovering of the Spirit over the expanse. I knew that, or I thought I did, I had remembered the word ruach and had written it down, I mentioned that in my answer.
We are studying Genesis, more specifically, The God of Creation. So as we were seated around the pushed together tables, after having rolled in almost tardy, but not quite, I 
studied the ladies seated with me. Some I knew well, others not so much. I listened carefully among the chatter of the other tables and as we moved onto other questions my overactive imagination got the best of me.
Another question, “Does God get tired?” The ladies sharing the tables said, “No.” I had remembered that question too. Before I had continued down to the scripture references I had already written in the margin, “He does not sleep nor does he slumber.”
Psalm 121:4, says Behold, he who keeps Israel will neither slumber nor sleep.
To illustrate further the Table leader went on to say, “It doesn’t matter when I wake up, God is always awake.”
And that is when it happened…I realized the obvious, something I have known as long as I have known the King, but in that moment I finally connected the dots. I am fully aware that God does not sleep, He is always available and is willing and ready to fellowship with me.
I thought about my Mama. She is an early riser and I am too, sometimes. When she wants to talk to me she will typically check the status of my sleep, wake cycle. She will usually send a “test text.” I do the same for her. It goes something like this?
Me: “You woke?”
Mama: “Yes. You woke?”
Me: “I’m woke.”
It always makes me laugh, if neither of us was woke we obviously wouldn’t be texting.
You know Who is always awake, who never sleeps or slumbers?
God.
I have never had to ask Him if He is awake prior to talking to Him. What a gift to have a God that is always awake and ready to talk with me. Never once have I said to the Lord,
“You woke?” and there is silence. Not. One. Time.
As the questions meandered on and the topic of conversation changed I pondered on and held onto the wonderful revelation that the King helped me to see clearly that Tuesday morning.
He is ready and willing to talk with me (and you) anytime of the night or day.
You will call on me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. Jeremiah 29:12
was just beginning to be less noticeable. I flipped left until I found the original text next to Psalm 1. I had dated it, and written a note to myself about the home of William Faulkner. A friend of mine had been there for a visit recently and was telling me about the red cedars planted all about the grounds. Legend has it those cedars were thought to “cleanse the air and were planted to ward off a typhoid outbreak long ago.”
He made his was around to tables handing quarters to his youngest patrons. He would pause at the tables and ask how lunch was and if everything was alright. My eyes followed him around the room. He would pause at tables making small talk with the adults and passing out quarters to his youngest patrons. There were rambunctious little cowboy boot wearing girls and sneaker wearing boys. When he would hold up the quarters in their direction, their faces would shine with excitement as they gazed upon that silver circle held between his thumb and forefinger.
The tire store quarters will yield a gum-ball. I learned that afternoon the restaurant quarter will yield a handful of slightly squashed m&ms or a handful of rainbow colored candies.
It was a Hanukkah gelt she had found. And it did have a resemblance to one of those stand-up sockets that go on cellphones. (Hanukkah gelt refers to money as well as chocolate coins given to Jewish children on the festival of Hanukkah.)
I know there are those who are in the anti-nap camp. Those who are unable to sleep the following night after a nap, or those who reserve naps for special occasions like Thanksgiving or limited only to Sunday afternoons.
I have long had a love of words. Written ones, spoken ones, even my thoughts and imaginations are verbose. For most of my life words have meant something to me. I can distinctly remember being no more than 4 or 5 years old, sitting on the floor of the public library; I sat with my legs folded and a book larger than my lap opened in front of me. I sounded out words and read that book all by myself, cover to faded cover. I will never forget the feeling of accomplishment and the new world that opened before my very eyes. In those moments I had been transported to Paris, France, and the adventures of a tiny little girl. Those words had come alive and transported me to a different place.
Priceless 