It’s 5 AM. My eyes blink open. The house is still and silent—my kids are asleep, and even our two dogs are curled up, dreaming peacefully.
What’s the first thing I do?
Grab my phone. Check my notifications and emails. Is it the same for you…regardless of the time when you wake up?
This is a fig leaf, a habit that grips so tightly we often don’t see the poison; we don’t see the need to reach for our Bible and prayer over these tiny idols we carry around daily.
I don’t even think about it—I grab it, unlock it, and let the glow hit my face before my eyes have even fully opened. Notifications, emails, and messages I have no intention of responding to at this hour. I do this as if it’s second nature, as if I need it like I do oxygen. As soon as my eyes see the unlocked screen, the world floods in, and I let it. It feels normal, almost necessary, like I need to know what I missed while I was asleep, as if I might have been left behind in the night. And no one likes the feeling of being left behind.
But the truth is, this habit isn’t harmless. It’s deadly, a silent killer. It has shaped me more than I want to admit, and probably you, too. Screens have become a quiet fig leaf in my life—a small, polished, culturally acceptable way of avoiding the discomfort in my own heart. It’s become a way of escape, to avoid hard things and the responsibilities of everyday life. More than that, they keep me distracted so I don’t have to face the restlessness I carry deep within. They offer a momentary sense of control, a quick hit of connection that never really satisfies. Almost like a drug. And somehow, somewhere along the way, grabbing my phone became easier than grabbing onto God.
Can you relate? How often do we grab for this fig leaf without noticing that we’re feeding our hearts with temporary things rather than turning to our eternal Father?
My Bible sits next to my bed, silent and patient. It doesn’t buzz or light up or beg for my attention. It waits for me to choose it. God is like that—He isn’t loud, and He doesn’t compete for our attention the way the world competes. His voice is gentle. His presence is steady. But whispers require intention, and I’ve been giving my first and most unguarded moments to something that only scatters my soul.
Lord, forgive me!
The screen doesn’t calm me; it clutters me. It doesn’t ground me; it pulls me in a hundred directions before I’ve even had a chance to breathe. Anxiety can easily rush in before the sun has a chance to shine on the new day. And I have to ask myself why I keep running to something that drains me before I run to Someone who restores me.
What am I afraid of sitting with?
What am I avoiding in the silence of the morning?
What would shift in my day—maybe even in my heart—if I gave God the first look instead of my screen?
This isn’t a guilt message. It’s an invitation. It’s a reminder that the first moments of the day matter because they set the tone for everything that follows.
And maybe it’s time to choose differently. Maybe it’s time to let my mind wake up to God before it wakes up to everyone else’s opinions, requests, and noise.
Maybe it’s time to reach for something that gives life instead of something that numbs it, drains it, and doesn’t really care about my soul the way Jesus does.
So today, I breathe.
I sit in the quiet for just a moment longer.
I grab my Bible, open it, and sit quietly before my heavenly Father.
Peace, nothing but peace.
And before the world comes rushing in, I whisper a simple declaration: “God, You first.” It’s small. But it’s a start. And maybe that’s enough for today.
Yes, it’s enough, and it’s enough for you too.
Scripture
“Turn my eyes away from looking at what is worthless, And revive me in Your ways.” - Psalm 119:37
Reflection Questions
- What do I normally reach for before I reach for God, and why?
- What uncomfortable feeling am I avoiding by grabbing my phone first?
- What small change could I make tomorrow morning to give God the first moment?
Prayer for today
Jesus, help me recognize the habits that shape my heart without my permission. Remove the fig leaf of screens and the reflex to reach for them before I reach for You. Give me a hunger for Your presence that is stronger than my craving for distraction. Turn my eyes away from what drains me and toward what gives me life. Teach me to begin my day with You. Amen.