A year or two ago, I found myself grabbing for my camera nearly every morning to capture the grand entrance of sun across sky. It seemed every one was breathtaking in a new way and I wanted so much to remember the crescendo of each new day. I wanted to remember how it made me feel, how my spirit trembled to see such vitality spreading overhead. I wanted to feel the fierce, insistent call to live–to feel it again and again, to share it with others, to thrill to the beating of my own heart every time I looked at the photograph of the sunrise.
But it didn’t work.
It never worked. The photographs turned into flat reminders of something that has happened every single day of this world’s existence. They were still lovely, but they had none of the immediacy of a real sunrise. At first, I was disappointed. I felt let down, bereft of something precious, inadequate to hold such beauty.
Then I woke the next morning and just watched the sun coming up behind the tree-lined horizon. I didn’t reach for my camera or my notebook. I didn’t try to keep it. I let it wash over me, fully in the moment, enjoying the passion God placed in His created light as it billowed over clouds, brought out the colors in the fields around me, touching the tips of houses, waking my neighbors and fellow sojourners on this spinning sphere of water and earth.
That moment taught me the joy of open hands. Rather than grasping after what was never mine to hold, the real joy lies in each moment lived. I saw the dawn for what it truly was–the new miracle of Today, given in love by my Father-King, flaming with His passion and purpose. It is His design of things that quickens my spirit each new day. It is His glory spreading over me that calls me up to live a life worthy of such wild, untamed, unfettered creativity.
I don’t take pictures of the sunrise anymore. I stand in those moments, and I let God hear my heart. I couldn’t tell you what my heart sings to Creator-God. Words are not able to capture what He and I say.
The sun and sky are free, and when my hands are open to the warmth of a new day, so am I.