Still. Gray. Heavy.
Words to describe a cold winter's day, and yet words that I've used this week to describe my soul. Hope is rising. I can see hints of it on the horizon. I know it's coming. It's just for now, the world that's mine seems still and dark. Like the moment before the first rays of morning light stretch out in a yawn across the sky.
Every morning I wake up before the sun comes up. Coffee in hand, wrapped in a blanket, hair a tangled, unruly mess I sit down on the couch in the dark. Waiting. Watching. I have been given an extravagant gift. The french doors in front of me frame the sun rising over acres and acres of Texas land.
For the first week I didn't come to the couch to wait on the sun. I came to sit down. To be alone. To think. To read my Bible. To lay a lot of pain and confusion bare before the Lord and ask Him to heal it, to make me teachable, to soften the parts that are hard.
It wasn't until a few days ago that I realized this morning ritual of sitting in the dark watching the sun come up may not be the background for the work God is creating, but perhaps it is the main message I need to absorb before I can fully embrace the rest of what God is teaching. This daily date with the sunrise is no accident.
It is dark. I can't see. All feels heavy and hopeless at times. I can barely make out the shapes in front of me. And yet every morning, without fail what once was completely dark, hidden, and shapeless transforms into something altogether different. Magnificently different.
Every morning I sit on that couch without one sliver of light in the room. Before the sun rises, in that dark, still moment, I find myself marveling that my surroundings will be changed in a matter of minutes. All is quiet. All is black. All is concealed and hidden. All is motionless. It begins. The silhouette of the tree close to the house becomes visible. I can make out the branches. The roof of the swing set. Each picket on the fence. The light steadily grows in strength and power. It marches on. Nothing can stop this light that is gently growing. Yet nothing can rush it.
Hair a mess, coffee almost gone, I sit on that couch before the sun comes up. It's difficult to believe that so much beauty and change is about to break forth. It's hard to believe, but I never doubt it; the sun is about to make its debut. There's never been a day when it hasn't.
In moments the room where I sit and the entire landscape is changed dramatically.
And so is my heart. Over the past few weeks that sun rising, has brought with it a sweet companion...hope.
Maybe the sun comes up every day because God knows that's about how often we are tempted to doubt His faithfulness and power?
I'm not sure what has comforted and taught me more the past few weeks. The Bible sitting in my lap or the messages it contains vibrantly coming alive in the sky.