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THE SUNRISE

 


My favorite thing to look at in all of nature is a sunrise.
Especially a winter sunrise.
I also enjoy looking at Erin.
For the record, Erin remains undefeated.
Marriage is largely about knowing when to include that sentence.
The bay near my home has become my cathedral.
Not because it’s quiet.
Not because it’s beautiful.
Although it is both.
It’s because every morning it reminds me that some of the best things in life happen whether I’m paying attention or not.
A sunrise cannot be rushed.
You have to sit still and stare at the exact spot where the sun is supposed to appear.
Which feels ridiculous.
Like showing up three hours early for a concert.
Except this performer has never missed a show.
First the darkness is navy, almost black.
Then a soft bruise-colored purple.
Then the faintest suggestion of orange, like the sky is clearing its throat.
A line of gold smears across the water.
The clouds go from ghosts to fire.
And then, so slowly you almost miss it, the edge of the sun peeks above the horizon.
No drumroll. Just light.
The shyest entrance in the world.
The gold spills across the bay.
The ice catches it first.
Then the water. Then the reeds.
Even the old dock starts glowing.
The whole world looks freshly laundered.
The horizon stops being a line and becomes a doorway.
And every time it happens, I think the same thing…
How is this free?
No tickets.
No VIP section.
Just show up. Pay attention.
The miracle isn’t that the sun rises.
The miracle is that it rises every day and we still miss it.
Or worse, we see it and look away.
Every morning God throws a bucket of gold across the bay and waits to see who’s paying attention.
This morning, I was.
And standing there in the cold, watching the water catch fire, I was reminded of something simple…
The light arrives.
It always does.
My job is not to create it.
My job is to notice.

“The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning.”

- Lamentations 3:22–23

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