Some days when I see ugly in the world I want to counter it with beauty.
I want to bury my head in piles of spring cherry blossoms and just bathe in the brand new sunshine. I want to curl up in our king size bed between two softly snoring boys and let their peace wash over me. I want to eat chocolate frosting right out of the tub and call my brothers in South Africa and catch up for hours.
I want to find the everything that is true and noble and right and pure and lovely and admirable, excellent and praiseworthy and just wallow in those things.
And I don’t think they need to be especially religious things to fall into that category. A favorite book that traces the character of courage; a favorite sweater that wraps me around with memories; a song that comes onto the radio and serenades the afternoon with a tribute to the ordinary –
a carrot top who can barely walk
With a sippy cup of milk
A little blue eyed blonde with shoes on wrong
‘Cause she likes to dress herself. ~ LoneStar
A Doppler heart beat and kids who hug so hard we all land in a laughing heap on the ground. Chocolate covered raisins and frothy cups of sweet, pink lemonade. Friends Stateside who speak Afrikaans. I want to drink in the good and remember that the Light of the world is not set on a dimmer switch. He blazes. Always.
Give me eyes that I might see.
The tenderness, the compassion the mercy. The meeting of minds to circle our social media wagons around our children and celebrate that they were indeed here. The blazing comet that lights up the Internet on nights when good triumphs over evil.
I want to dance. I want to dance underneath a sky of fireworks blazing His goodness across the vast expanse of seeming dark. Because morning is coming and we are the morning people.
We might have nightmares, thrash around in the dark and grope towards a night light. But we are the destined-for-morning people.
We are the sunshine creeping over the edge of a dark rock rolled away people. We are the gaping hole in the side of a hill defied by the Light people. We are the dew early rise with the Gardner people.
We are the Sunday morning people.
We are the promises of new mercies every morning people. And these promises are our flaming torch in the midnight hour. They blaze a trail for our confused hearts and blind feet. They carve a way out of the darkness when there seems to be none. And they lead us towards the horizon.
And the whole universe testifies that morning will come.
As surely as the earth turns on its axel and rotates around the sun. As surely as the sun burns at a temperature of 13,600,000 kelvins at its core. As surely as its light travels to Earth in 8 minutes and 19 seconds to crack through the clouds and paint my son’s eyelashes golden.
Morning will come.
We must not become so accustomed to the dark, so confined by its four walls, that we doubt the morning. But even if we do, even if we lose our sight and our will to keep walking forward, the morning sends a messenger back to find us – to bring us out into the light.
He will lead us tenderly, blindly forward, one foot at a time, until we feel the first flush of warmth on our cheeks. And eyelids swollen shut with weeping will be bathed in sunshine. And we will be the reflected glory of the Son who saved us.
The people walking in darkness
have seen a great light;
on those living in the land of the shadow of death a
a light has dawned. Isaiah 9:2.
Let it be so.