Every dawn is different. We awaken to a new day with fresh opportunities. Sometimes the rising of the sun is bright and clear. At other times it is gray and dismal. A few are splashes of the most vivid colors we could imagine. We are stunned, mesmerized by the artistry. A chill runs through us at the beauty. Those are the ones we remember. Most are entirely forgettable. The sun never changes, only our perspective.
Gloomy days. They give us no glimpse of the sun. Clouds totally block the view. It is still there shining as brightly as ever; we just cannot see it. The morning is shrouded in various shades of gray. No color and no promise of change. Scratch this day. Blah.
All days are not like that. Some are bright but colorless. We see the sun, even feel its warmth, but it leaves us unmoved. We move without joy. Ho-hum. Yep, it’s there. So what? We expect it. It is there every day. Now, it would be news if it did not show up. But it always does, right on cue. We take it for granted. The sun is as dependable as the morning. They always arrive together. Appreciate the sunrise? Why should we? It is the norm.
Then, there are those special days. A partial cloud cover lingers on the horizon. The sun slips above the horizon in a cascade of colors. Pink, burgundy, purple, blues…the clouds provide the painter’s pallet for a once-in-a-lifetime painting. It is beautiful beyond description, but the impression runs deeper than that. It is visual and much more. It reaches through our eyes into our hearts.
Days are like that. Some are dismal. There is not a speck of light in the hospital room. Death darkens every place we go. Lost jobs are a total eclipse. Families crumble under the weight of unfaithfulness. Disappointment. Discouragement. Despair. Hopelessness. The cloud cover intensifies. Silver linings are on the other side for someone else to see. Everyone knows days like this. The Son is still there. It may not feel like it, but He is.
Times come when all is going fine. No troubles and none on the horizon. Yet, we are virtually numb. The risen Son matters little. Life is good. He is warming me, blessing me, but remains far from my thoughts. He is always there. The clear days…pleasant…worry-free…no clouds…no needs…fertile ground for forgetting the Son.
Special days are rare. If they weren’t, they wouldn’t be special. We are on a spiritual mountaintop, and those visits are always brief. Our hearts see the indescribable beauty of the Son. We will descend soon, back to the grit and grime of the world but this is a time in the multicolored glory of the Son. He is always there shining, but sometimes the clouds just get in the way.