Fitness Watch Preaches a Sermon

My morning began at 2 a.m.

Writers know this hour well — the quietest stretch of the day when the world is asleep and ideas seem to arrive more easily. The coffee is strong, the house is still, and the writing cave feels like sacred space.

By the time 7 a.m. rolled around, I had already lived a full morning on the page.

I was heading to Bible study to help substitute in a class — something I was looking forward to — when I pulled onto the road and was greeted by heavy fog. The kind that softens the edges of everything. Headlights appeared as small glowing orbs ahead, and traffic moved slowly, cautiously, each car feeling its way forward through the gray morning.

Brake lights stretched ahead of me in a steady line.

Then my wrist buzzed.

I glanced down at my fitness watch.

“Relax. High stress detected.”

Really?

I almost laughed out loud in the car.

Apparently even my watch thought I needed a moment.

It was true I had already been awake for five hours, writing since the middle of the night, and now the morning was unfolding quickly — traffic, fog, responsibility, and a schedule already in motion.

But somehow seeing those words flash across my wrist felt like being gently called out by a tiny digital conscience.

Relax.

Easier said than done in fog and traffic.

Still, I loosened my grip on the steering wheel and took a slow breath. The fog hung low across the road, the world quiet and softened in its gray veil. No one could rush through it. Every driver had to move carefully, patiently, trusting the road would reveal itself a little at a time.

It struck me then how often life works the same way.

Especially for those of us who wake early because we care deeply about the work before us — writers, teachers, volunteers, parents, friends. We move quickly, determined to do well with what we’ve been given.

Sometimes the body reminds us to slow down.

Even if the reminder comes from a watch.

The rest of the drive became something different — not a race against the clock, but a quiet moment to breathe before stepping into a room full of people and conversation.

Interestingly, when I arrived and settled into the class, the lesson that morning centered on God being in control.

I couldn’t help but smile.

Here I had spent the morning gripping the steering wheel, trying to move faster through fog that simply required patience — while my watch, the weather, and perhaps even the morning itself had been gently reminding me to let go.

The fog eventually lifted, just as it always does.

And maybe that was the real sermon of the morning.

Sometimes God lets the road stay foggy so we remember who actually sees the whole way ahead.

And sometimes…

He even uses a fitness watch to deliver the message.