This morning I woke in the dark. The sky was as dark as a mourning minion, as dark as an evening whisper, as dark as a fleeting but important memory ... here one moment, gone the next.
Oh,you know what I'm talking about. I'm quite sure you've had one of those moments where the sun creeps and crawls up the early morning sky, throwing up streams of deep purple and flowery pinks.
Cold. Static. Sharp.There for all to see and admire and love on, but just as sheer and intangible
Imagine if you will or can, a bucket stuffed with memories, roaring with ideas, , like slips of paper on a dark night. An idea for the future, a rumpled and worn thought for the present, a memory or one or two, made pure and made real by a parcel and a peck of joy. Can you just imagine the process, prancing and dancing and flickering about like Monday's newspaper?
This morning I woke in the dark, bathed in it, tried it on for size and waited for the Father's still small voice to provide the impetus for the morning to change it all. When -- and if -- God cranks the early morning display of power (with stars and moon dancing to a tune God provides quite freely), I too will dance.
This morning I woke in the dark, celebrating the sameness of the dark, the acute silence, the sharp tacky love-in that is God's opening salvo.
This morning I woke in the dark, and loved every cold, static, sharp moment as if it was all there could ever be.
Scripture tells me: "God made two big lights, larger to take charge of Day, smaller to be charge of Night; and he made stars. God placed m heavenly sky to light up Earth And oversee Day and Night, to separate light and . God saw that it was good. It was evening, it was morning— Day Four."
It was good. It was evening. It was morning. And God saw that it was good.
This morning I woke in the dark, with the mighty sun stretching its body like a kid, stretching to the heavens, stretching to make its body more limber than possible, making a bucket of memories, roaring with ideas.