Across the river the horizon reddened. Thin threads of light tore holes in the dark. Poker red, burnt orange ribbons adorned the black, blue and gray panorama.
My mind remembers many such a morning peering across that river. It always interested me. It stimulated, re-created me. Ah, there too is my spiritual river of life, eh? I must keep that in my vision as well.
My fingers tapped out a rhythm on the sill. I focused and refocused; how could such a beautiful sight be so obscured, I mumbled? I needed my view. I needed to know that there was someone out there. Most of my loved ones, of church and family fame, were snug in their beds. The morning silence was hummed awake by the fan on our heating system that rattled and whispered a monotone hymn.
As the absence of light subsided, I threw open the window of my mind. This would be a grand time to talk to God. I could chat away, without the prefix: “Let us pray...” I did. Never taking my eyes off the window-framed world, I began to talk with God. Notice, mind you, I did not say “to.”
Soon the vastness retreated. My vigil prevailed, but my eyes were seeking intervention, not sight. It had been ages since God and I had a chance to review life’s happenstances. I felt warmed, comforted, so I chatted away. I realized that I was talking out loud. The time passed quickly.
It was as if I had blinked my eyes to suddenly see daylight. The far shore, up the Eastern Branch, turned an orange and black hue. The close shore from Moran Creek to Taylor’s Creek shook off its dull blanket. Over toward my late friend Elzie Currell’s airport at Indiantown Farm (also known as Butter Cup International) hung ropes of white.
Before I could catalogue the unfolding dawn, it happened. An explosion of light prevailed. One could almost hear trumpets play. God was giving me another new day. With a loud amen, Sol exploded upon a mat of gray. My windowpanes steamed. White-hot morning had broken. Blue and green awoke. My world was techno-colored: oops, make that God-colored!
I hummed softly at first. I was tickled that a tune so familiar, as once sung by a 1960s rock group, had come to mind. How odd, I had never associated it with its hymn book origin.
God and I sang together: “Morning has broken like the first morning, blackbird has spoken like the first bird. Praise for the singing! Praise for the morning! Praise for them springing fresh from the world!
“Sweet the rain’s new fall sunlit from heaven, like the first dew fall on the first grass. Praise for the sweetness of the wet garden, sprung in completeness where his feet pass.
“Mine is the sunlight! Mine is the morning, born of the one light Eden saw play! Praise with elation, praise every morning, God’s recreation of the new day!”
There you have it. Did you sing along? Oh, I hope so.
For at least that moment I felt so renewed. I know why. I had found my God in the darkness and he talked with me through to the light. I owe him better than I have given, that’s a fact.
I suspicion that I am not alone. My heart trembles at the notion of all of us who call ourselves Christian finding ourselves thrust into any new day, fully aware of God’s redemptive power. Why do we hide his light so?
Get a grip. Search the vast resources that God has placed within your soul. Pray yourself through this week. Peer into all the deep dark recesses of your life. Invite God to illuminate the path you need to trod.
This Sunday we will awake with the daylight savings’ sun just rising. We will “spring” ahead. I pray that we will all awake Son-ahead, not just sun-ahead.
Invest yourself in each new morning until your feet next stand in some holy sanctuary.
On the lane near every one of us is a church just ahead. What a grand day to sit-a-pew, lend-a-song, lift-a-prayer, support Christ’s mission.
Just imagine if we all arrived at our houses of worship excited by the opportunities which God is placing at our discretion. Every church would be revived by the light which we would have brought.
From the piercing light of a single candle we could pull together our corporate light. Less and less dark our world could become.
“Morning has broken, like the first morning”; how has it, how does it, how will it change me? “Praise every morning, God’s recreation of the new day.” Let’s become new people of faith. Let our light shine. “I will awaken the dawn. I will praise you, O Lord.” Psalms 57:8-9.
