Early. That’s the time. I wake up thinking today will be the day. It’s time. To make the donuts? To walk outside and enjoy the fresh air? Sure. All of that too, but it’s time to sit back, relax, and enjoy another story produced by a real storyteller and not an AI bot.

Pretzel June feels it before I do. She lifts her head from the foot of the bed, watching me sit up with the grace of a half-awake toddler learning to walk. I stretch, rub my eyes, trying my best to scratch an itch I can’t reach, all while she’s watching me. Her tail hits the bed with the finesse of a bullwhip, smacking the bed hard enough that I wonder if Alissa will wake up. Thankfully, she doesn’t. That’s our whole conversation. You’re awake. I’m awake. Pet me. Now. Then she moves with stalker-like intentions, booping me with her nose. Pet me already.

I scratch her nose and make my way to the kitchen, the smell of fresh coffee wafting through our house.

Alissa is still sleeping. And right now, the whole house is quiet. The hum of the ceiling fan on high. The low-level hum of the electricity. The click of the air conditioner kicking on. I pour my first cup, staring outside, wondering if it’s cool enough to sit and watch the goldfish swim in the pond. The light outside is the color of weak tea, if tea looked pale yellow. Alissa would correct me, giving me a more accurate color. But she’s not awake. Yet.

This is the story. It’s not inside Jackson Donuts, which is weird to say because there are two: one in Jackson and one in Cape Girardeau. It makes me think of that person you know who says, “Yeah, well it’s the same name, but you know, we’re not related.”

The story is bigger than the donuts. Bigger than my cup of coffee. The story lies in the quiet. The silence between sleeping and wakefulness.

Sure, AI could write a paragraph about a quiet morning. One that most people would gloss over, drive through like a Starbucks drive-up window, order their cold brew with oat milk and drive on, all without so much as a blink. Mechanically it would share with you the bit about the goldendoodle, the donuts, and maybe it would mention Alissa’s breathing. From a grammatical perspective? It could be technically correct. But I’d bet you’d forget it the second you stopped reading.

Or would you?

The pond is murky from the frogs working the muddy bottom. I wait. The water settles. The goldfish come back into view.

That’s how I do it. How I show up, ready to start the day. I think about Kim Dixon at Safe House, and Jess Gerard at Uptown Jackson, and their fantastic stories, their events, and the relationships with real people who make every part of their work easier. Stories, untold. And nonprofits need stories like theirs to describe what they bring to their communities. Storytellers who capture hearts and imaginations. AI can’t do it, even if the algorithm says otherwise.

The thing is, emotions are driven by how we feel. And we feel all kinds of ways. Good. Bad. Jealous. Angry. Rude. Hateful. Gracious. Or thankful. Plus, we are made in the image of God. And our feelings? They are worth a few seconds or few minutes of our time because like it or not, they stick with you. That’s why you sit down, pay attention, and get the heck out of the way.

Well, my coffee’s cold. I need a refill. While I’m pouring, why not take a few minutes for yourself. Slow down. Put down your phone for two minutes and show up. Watch. Wait. Pay attention.

Who knows?

Someone might even bring you a donut.