By Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer
If you are a long-time reader of this blog, you may have guessed that I like to take pictures of the sunrise. Have you noticed that each one is unique?
Most mornings when I walk, I strike out toward the east, so I’m greeted with a new beginning each day.
English professors will tell you that “new beginning” is redundant.
Starting something is a beginning. Starting all over again is a new beginning. But starting with something unique and fresh over which you have no control is an amazing experience.
It’s a gift.
Like the dawn.
His compassions fail not.
they are new every morning:
Great is Thy faithfulness.
I also like to take pictures of striking sunsets. These two times of day speak to me more than any other and draw me to scriptures like Psalm 65:8.
“You make the outgoings of the morning and evening rejoice.”
Years ago I read a fanciful children’s book by Gary D. Schmidt, Straw into Gold. One of the characters is blind, but he can hear the dawn. “… the dawn gives reason to hope,” he tells his sighted companions.
Can you imagine how quiet one must be to hear the sun rise?
Another scripture that comes to me regarding sunrise and sunset is repeated in six variations in the first chapter of Genesis:
“And the evening and the morning were the first day.”
Biblical scholars argue about this – of course – for how could there be “evening” and “morning” on the first three days of creation when the sun wasn’t created until the fourth day (though light was the very first thing spoken into existence)?
Well, I don’t know.
Neither do I know how God made all that is from nothing. Or how the rotation and orbit of our earth doesn’t fling us into space. Or how anyone could possibly love me, like God Himself.
But each morning when I see the dawn breaking at the end of my lane, I see that He does love me. I see that He is faithful, even more so than the rising of that glowing star that gives me warmth and light.
He gives me life, for with Him is its very fountain (Psalm 36:9).
And it is enough to know that in His light we see light.
~We see light. Click To Tweet
Clay pulled his gloves on and tromped across the yard, around the barn, and away from the world where he could stand out in the open and watch the sun rise.
Like every sunrise before, it drew him. They always had, though he didn’t know—there it was again—why. He dipped his head until his hat brim cut the line where sky met land. And at the moment white light broke the edge, the blister in his soul split open with the sound of her voice.
He’s faithful, Clay. Look at that sunrise, so fresh and perfect. It’s His mercy, brand new every morning.
The pain sent him to his knees, and he clutched at his chest. Lanced by forgotten words, the blister drained through his every pore and ran down his face like acid.
All these years he’d hidden from the memory, the loss, the tenderness of his mother’s voice. It wasn’t worth the impossible price it cost him to remember. Yet she’d drawn him without his knowledge. He could no more break his connection to her than he could his connection to dawn. ~An Impossible Price
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