Sweaty and thirsty from an early morning run, I continued driving home to get cleaned up and begin the work day. Stopped at the light, I stared at the hues of pink and purple as they crept slowly over the treetops. The early morning runs had become darker. I missed seeing the sunrise. I held up my phone as the light turned green to take a picture. But I wasn’t satisfied. What is a sunrise with power lines and stop lights and even those trees? I had to catch it. I had to capture it.
My speed increased as I headed down the highway. I passed my neighborhood and kept going. I would drive and then glance up at the sky. Were the purples still there? Were the pinks as rich as they were a minute ago?
My heart beat faster as I pulled into a store parking lot. Could I see it here? Could I capture the beauty that had me in awe? Nope. I kept driving. Through a neighborhood. Turning right. Turning left. Then following a long country road, up a hill, over a hill. Where could I stop? There didn’t appear to be a place where I could safely pull over and get a view of the sunrise.
I turned into a subdivision and realized I was on a dead-end street. Yep, a dead-end. That’s what it felt like. I looked up at the sky. The sun was shining bright, but the richness had faded. There was something about the transition from darkness to light that had me captivated. I wanted to catch it. I wanted to hang onto it. But I couldn’t.
Coming back to present
At different points over the last year (but especially this summer), I have been living in the past. My past. I have poured through old journals, I have listened to songs that jogged memories, I have written out painfully dark scenes that I never knew I’d be able to write, I tried popsicles again and even had the stomach bug (if you know much about my story you’ll find that a bit ironic/funny).
Now here I am, in the final editing round, ready to hand this off to design. The darkness is transitioning to light, as writing my story has changed me. This moment right now as I stand in awe of this story God crafted. This moment is rich. This moment is beautiful. I want to capture it—like the sunrise. I want to hold onto this moment right here.
But the sun continues to move. I can’t stop it. I can’t chase a beautiful moment and then grip it tight until it’s strangled, gasping for air. I can only be present in it.
Present. That’s a new and important place for me these days.
But forget all that—it is nothing compared to what I am going to do. For I am about to do something new. See, I have already begun! Do you not see it? I will make a pathway through the wilderness. I will create rivers in the dry wasteland. —Isaiah 43:18-19
Forget all that? Really, God?
Maybe God is saying, My daughter, you don’t need to chase the sunrise and capture it. Just watch. The beauty has only begun.