The 4:47 AM Alarm

Every morning at 4:47 AM, Jasmine Torres's phone alarm cuts through the darkness of her apartment in Queens. She's a trauma nurse at NewYork-Presbyterian, and her shift starts at six. For exactly eleven seconds, she lies still, tempted to hit snooze. But Jasmine long ago learned what those eleven seconds cost. Once, early in her career, she silenced the alarm and drifted back to sleep. She arrived late to find her unit overwhelmed, a young mother coding, and colleagues scrambling without her. She never hit snooze again.

Now her routine is immediate. Feet on the floor. Scrubs on. Coffee brewing before her eyes fully adjust. She strips off the old day — yesterday's exhaustion, last night's worries — and puts on the uniform that says she is ready to save lives.

Paul writes to the Romans with that same 4:47 AM urgency. "The night is nearly over; the day is almost here." He isn't offering a gentle suggestion. He's sounding an alarm. Wake up. Strip off the comfortable darkness — the grudges, the numbing habits, the things we do when we think no one is watching. And clothe yourselves with Christ the way Jasmine pulls on her scrubs: deliberately, immediately, because lives depend on it.

The hour is late. The Almighty has set the alarm. The only question is whether we'll rise or reach for snooze.