I walk outside and my eyes turn eastward. It’s an unconscious habit in the morning. My body heads to the car, but my spirit needs to check in with the sun.
Low on the horizon the clouds are infused with the most unnatural shade of orangey pink. Unnatural? How can the colors of the sky be unnatural? The sun and its rays breaking through the atmosphere is the epitome of natural.
I take every opportunity to check in on the eastern sky as I drive. In my rearview mirror I see the glowing orange orb peek over the indigo hills.
What is it about God’s economy that on the days I’m feeling the most depleted—when I’m feeling the weight in my chest of Grandma’s lungs fighting against her and the inability to help as a friend struggles with mental health issues—the richness of creation overwhelms my deficiencies? It slides in on sunbeams and reminds me my lack of control is as natural as the sunrise. I can’t fret loved ones to health or the sun into the sky.
Even as I try to write the image in my mind, to inscribe the beauty in words of remembrance, the sun keeps climbing. The colors change. The moment is gone. But the truth is not.
“This is the day that the LORD has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it” Psalm 118:24 (ESV).