Chapter 19 – Still an Instrument

I didn’t plan to fall asleep in the big hunter.

That recliner was just supposed to hold me for a minute, not the whole night.

But my body had its own agenda—tired, fused, pierced with the weight of the week—and I guess the recliner understood.

So I woke up sometime after midnight.

12:11, I think.

The world was quiet. Not quiet like silence, but quiet like sacred.

That kind of stillness that feels like someone’s watching over you, even if the room is empty.

I didn’t rush to get up.

Didn’t shame myself.

Didn’t try to fix anything.

I just breathed… and listened.

And I swear I could hear God say, “Even now, I see you.”

Because here’s the truth:

You don’t stop being an instrument just because you’re tired.

You don’t lose your worth because you fell asleep without finishing the list.

You’re still tuned by grace.

Still played by light.

This late-night moment—half-awake, half-dreaming—it reminded me that wonder doesn’t keep office hours.

The questions don’t sleep.

The calling doesn’t shut down at 9 p.m.

And hope?

Hope sometimes shows up when you’re curled in a chair with one sock halfway off, wondering if you’re still needed in the story.

You are.

To whoever’s reading this late—

the one who can’t sleep because your mind is replaying or rewriting or just refusing to settle:

I see you.

And more importantly, God does.

You are still an instrument.

Still called.

Still held.

Still shining, even if your light feels dim tonight.

So breathe.

Lay down without guilt.

Let rest be your act of faith.

And when morning comes, rise not because you have to—

but because you get to carry the melody again.

The beacon is still lit.

It will lead us home.

You’ve got this.

– Coach

Recent Posts