For the last three months I have
rolled out of my bed somewhere between 4:30am and 4:50am Central Time,
navigated the labyrinth that is my room, and with a none too gentle hand;
murdered the shrieking demon that is my alarm clock with a flip of that little
switch at the top of the box that I have come to believe was manufactured not
in Eastern Asia, but Hell itself. It is a short lived victory though because as
soon as I slide the switch to the off position, I flip it right back on and
there it waits patiently for the next twenty three hours and fifty-nine
minutes. Masking itself as an innocent clock, biding the time until it rips me
from sleep’s sweet embrace and rudely brings me back into reality. After this
battle has ended, I shuffle to the bathroom, turn on the light and begin the
typical working Single American Male’s morning routine: Shower, towel off, go
to underwear drawer, find it empty, go get underwear out of the dryer, hang
towel on shower curtain rod to dry, put contacts in, look for undershirt, go
get undershirt out of the dryer, put on dress shirt, put on pants, go to sock
drawer, find it empty, go to laundry basket with unfolded socks in it, get two
socks (matching is optional), put on socks, put on shoes, tie my tie, fix hair,
pack lunch, get briefcase, pour coffee, head to vehicle, commute.
Now for the last semester I have
been student teaching at a middle school about thirty minutes down the
interstate. Just close enough to Georgia to be on Eastern Time. Hence the
4:30am. For the majority of the semester this morning drive has been boring. I
leave early enough that it is still dark, I only get to hear the first segment
or two of Rick and Bubba, and there aren’t that many other drivers on the road
so it is an easy, uneventful drive. About four weeks ago, something changed
though. I drive east on I85 to get to work so I have a full view of the horizon
as the sun begins to come up and around the first week of March I began to get
to see the sun rise as I was east bound and down.
I’ve always been a fan of seeing
sunrises and sunsets. Sunsets though have always been my favorite for a few
reasons. Number one: I’ve seen more sunsets. Because I’ve been awake for more
sunsets. Before this semester the only way I would see a sunrise would be if I
was getting up to go hunt or if I had been out fishing or gigging frogs and
didn’t get home until the sun came up. Number two: sunsets carry with them a
sense of peace and restfulness for me. When I think about and remember sunsets I
always think about sitting on the porch at my parents house as the evening
begins to cool off, hearing the creak of the swing moving back and forth, feeling the warmth that the boards of the porch have absorbed from the day on my feet, and seeing the first fireflies take flight as the sun gives its last farewell and slips below the horizon. I think about the sun reflected on the water of
the pond as I reel in my line for the last time because I can’t distinguish my
orange bobber from the orange shine on the water. I think about the winter day that
my brother and I spent hours in the woods, saw nothing, and as we stepped out of the woods into the
open field near our house it looked like the world burst into flame and
standing there with him and getting to see that made the whole day worth it. So
with those things in their favor, sunsets have always been my favorite, and
probably will still be my favorite. But not by such a large margin.
On my drive in the sunrise usually
reaches its most beautiful point at what I think might be one of the most
perfect places on the planet; a cow pasture. This pasture sits in a valley
where they have probably been grazing cattle for 150 years. Gone are the pines
and flat land that line the majority of the interstate system in south Alabama
and in their place are gently rolling grassy hills dotted with grazing cattle,
and hardwood trees that stand proud and majestic in their solitude throughout
the pasture, except where they cluster at the creek at the bottom of the valley. It
is rare to see a creek like this these days. This is not a stream or a ditch,
but a real creek. One that flows strong year round, even in the middle of July
when everything else has dried up. A creek that you can tell knows where it is
going and is in no hurry to be there, because the banks are high from years of
erosion and it winds its way through the valley bottom twisting and turning
where it pleases and making its own way through the earth. It is here, in this
valley with bovines moving across dewy grass, with fog settled on valley floor
obscuring the creek from view that I look out across this pasture and see
something that tugs at my heart nearly every morning.
What began simply as a lightening
of the sky as I made my way to my truck earlier, hinting at what was coming,
has now become an all out declaration of what is to come. The night’s horizon,
dead in its deep blue, has disappeared and in its place is something that
artists have tried, and failed, to capture with paint, pencil, film, and word.
Everything they make is just a copy. How do you describe a work of a master?
How can you accurately trap something so original, so unique, as a sunrise? No
matter how much talent a person may have, they cannot compare to the One who
created the first sunrise. With nothing more than a word. So I won’t even
really try, and trying to describe a sunrise isn’t the point of this post.
Something I have discovered, and
what caused this entire post to start to in my head, is the thought that the
best sunrises come after a storm. Being spring in Alabama, we’ve had our fair
share of storms already and can only expect to have more. There have been a few mornings when I
was driving in that the storm clouds were breaking up, the sky was
beginning to peek through, and some of the most spectacular sunrises that I have seen
happened. As clouds that brought destruction and damage are being swept away,
the sun rises and God uses these clouds to show His majesty. The sun itself and
the sky around it are clear and pure at this point, so bright that it is
painful to look at. The sullen clouds though, have changed colors ranging from
deep purple to the bright gold as the sun’s rays begin the process of cleansing
the darkness from the earth and revealing the world as it is supposed to be
seen. A reminder that storms aren’t forever, and that God’s beauty will win in
the end.
This is never so real as it is in
our spiritual lives. Because of original sin, we are born into darkness, death,
and confusion. But there is hope. Christ has risen. The Son has risen. Once you
have come to accept Christ as Lord, there is a change. What once was darkness
and despair in your life has now become something beautiful. Christ’s light
transforms the clouds of our past into flaming beacons of hope for those that
are lost in darkness and looking for answers. As they see the beauty and joy in
our lives, they seek the cause, they look for the source of light. They look to
the Son. So on this Easter Sunday, this day of hope and triumph, know that the
same God who has created a unique sunrise and sunset since He made the very
first one, has also created you. Know that He will calm your storms, and use
you to lead others through their troubles. Know that all of this was because
Christ Himself endured a storm for you and me, that when that storm blew itself
out the Son rose, the sun rose, and the world was given an eternal hope that
shines in our soul.
