It’s been called the “devil’s hour,” (3 A.M.)—the inverse of the time of Jesus’ crucifixion (3 P.M.) But I’ve never believed that. The Devil’s hour is any hour we give to him.
Nonetheless, 3 A.M. is not my favorite hour. As an old friend once quipped, “Nothing much good happens after midnight.”
“If you wake up at 3 A.M. this morning, you could remember that Harrison made coffee at that time,” Lori smiled.
It was seven years ago, on October 24, when Harrison passed away. I smelled coffee brewing that night. The aroma woke Lori as well. Looking at the clock, 3 A.M., I whispered to Lori, “That Harrison, he’s always been the night owl, and here he’s making coffee at 3 A.M.” Rolling back over, I drifted back to sleep.
But the next morning, the coffee pot was just as I had left it the day before; no one had made coffee in it since I had. Not long afterwards, we discovered Harrison’s lifeless body. He had been gone, the coroner estimated, “about 4 hours,” which would have been around 3 A.M., about the time we smelled coffee brewing.
Lori and I have always said that Harrison made me a pot of coffee on his way to heaven.
So, there I was, seven years later to the day, awake again at 3 A.M.
I made a pot of coffee in honor of Harrison.
Then, I stepped outside. The stars can be brilliant around 3 A.M., and that night, they shone with stunning brightness against the backdrop of endless darkness. I repeated Psalms 19 and 8 as I stared skyward, praising God for his handiwork.
And I thought of Harrison. And that pot of coffee I smelled seven years ago that night.
Then, just as I was about to turn back to the house, I saw it.
A falling star.
Rocketing across the eastern sky.
I grinned, even as a teardrop streamed down my cheek.
This side of eternity, I’ll never know how we smelled coffee brewing on that night seven years ago. But I know we did.
Nor will I understand the heavens, and how a star fell at the precise moment I was reflecting on God and Harrison’s death.
I do know God is a good and sovereign God, and if He wanted us to smell coffee that never brewed, He could do it.
And if He can throw the stars into place, naming them one by one, He can hurl a star across His sky as a reminder to one of His own that He does indeed care about the details of His children’s lives.
From time to time, maybe the creator of the heavens and the earth lets those in His presence send those who remain on this side, little winks, maybe in the form of a shooting star, or the aroma of coffee, as reminders that “all is well, and all will be well.”
Something good can happen after midnight, after all, when we give the hour to God.