Night Reminders

Sleeping with the Curtains Open

I have a tendency to sleep with the bedroom curtains open. Not because I forget to close them, nor because I don’t value rest and stillness, but because I wake often through the night…

and in those quiet moments between sleep and awareness, I find something sacred.

I find the sky.

I leave the curtains open because I need reminders of hope.

Sometimes it’s just a single star — small, steady and unbothered by how dark everything else looks. A quiet reminder that even in darkness, light is still present. 

“He determines the number of the stars and calls them each by name.”
(Psalm 147:4)

Sometimes it’s clouds drifting slowly across the night like thoughts passing through the mind— unhurried, unforced, simply moving as they are led.

“The wind blows wherever it pleases…” 

(John 3:8)

Sometimes it’s a deep, endless darkness that feels almost empty… yet strangely full at the same time. Even there, I remember. 

What if the night sky is also a sermon?
One preached without words, reminding us that God is present even when the world is asleep.

“The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.”

(John 1:5)

Then there are moments when the sky changes completely while I am still awake to witness it. From a single star in the sky… to clouds rolling in like soft whispers… to the first hint of dawn stretching its light across the horizon.

It’s never the same sky twice and somehow, that becomes a reminder.

The sky changes. So do the seasons. So does grace.
Life is like that too.

We don’t always get the same view. We don’t always wake up to clarity.
Some nights feel still and bright with hope. Others feel covered and uncertain. Sometimes we are awake in the middle of it all — watching change happen slowly, without being able to rush it.

Some lessons come at 3 a.m. under starlight. The kind no classroom could ever teach.
Even then, there is a steady promise holding everything together:

“The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning.” (Lamentations 3:22–23)

Even when I am not fully at rest, I am still held.
Even when I am awake in the middle of the night, I am still being carried into morning.

“He who watches over you will not slumber.”
(Psalm 121:3–4)

More than once, I have woken in the middle of the night and found God in the sky.
Not because He was absent during the day, but because the quiet made it easier to notice He had been there all along.

Even when everything appears to be standing still, something is quietly moving toward the light. There is a quiet kind of comfort in that.

So I leave the curtains open. Not just to see the sky… but to remember that I am part of something bigger than the moment I am in.

I leave the curtains open, simply to remember that God is still writing my night and every time I wake and look up, I am reminded:

This too is part of becoming. 
This too is held by God.
This too is not forgotten.

One day there will be a morning where faith becomes sight, but until then, every star, every passing cloud and every sunrise reminds me that God has never stopped watching over His creation — or over me. So tonight, I'll leave the curtains open, not because I expect the sky to change me, but because it gently reminds me of the One who never changes.

With you on the journey,
– Storm Reagan
Life Coach | Lived Experience Guide