Watching the Birdies: A 5AM Reminder
Engage the Wild. Then Guide It.
Drew has started to love a new routine with me — waking up to see the birdies.
What began as a quick dad move to keep him quiet and let the house sleep has turned into something else entirely:
A moment of wonder only a four-year-old can summon.
But lately, I’ve resisted.
I’ve been waking up not with peace, but with pressure — stirred by anxiety, likely fueled by cortisol from all the stress I’m carrying… and let’s be honest, manufacturing.
Vacation’s coming, but it’s not planned.
Customers are on edge, the launch isn’t quite ready.
My team wants me to take PTO — they truly do — but they’re overwhelmed too.
And of course, there’s the constant background noise of four kids, interrupted routines, and unfinished thoughts.
So when 5AM hit again, I was ready.
But not for the workday.
This time, I started with stillness.
I turned on a meditation app. Practiced self-love. Sat in silence. Resisted the tug of my phone.
Breathed. Listened. Remained still.
I read a Substack piece on faithful habits. On the power of prayer.
I closed the app. Reflected. Applied. Prayed.
And I felt it — the cortisol slipping away, replaced by calm.
Just as I was about to work out, Drew walked in.
All he wanted was a snuggle.
So I paused. I breathed. I accepted.
Then he whispered, “Can we go see the birdies?”
So we did.
I didn’t want to — not really. I wanted to move on with the day. I prayed, meditated, spent time being still and now I was ready to workout.
I wanted the birds to already be gone so I could reasonably say, “Maybe tomorrow.”
But then we saw one.
A little robin bouncing in the grass.
Then two more — perched on a wire.
Then a squirrel darted through the yard.
Drew’s wide eyes sparkled with joy. I watched him as he watched them.
I narrated. He giggled.
Then six birds flew across the sky, our gaze shifting toward the faint, reddish sunrise just barely holding on.
And just like that, we were in it.
Fully present.
Connection
There’s a theory in neuroscience — Attention Restoration — that says nature helps reset our overloaded brains.
Not by demanding our focus, but by gently holding it.
The flutter of a robin.
A squirrel’s dart.
A sunrise stretching into morning.
These aren’t distractions.
They’re repairs.
God’s quiet way of restoring what hurry and stress erode.
Then, just as abruptly as it started, Drew turned and said,
“Thanks, Dad,” and walked inside.
Reflection
I sat there a moment longer.
Grateful.
Grateful for the reminder — the very one I’d asked for during my quiet time.
To be still.
To stop chasing and just be.
To let wonder interrupt worry.
That’s what I need.
That’s what God wants.
That’s what my boys seek.
And my only way there?
To slow down.
Connect with Him.
Then with my surroundings.
Then with myself.
And finally — with them.
