Treasure the gift

The morn dawned in ever widening streams of brightness, like a worn and frayed brush wiping away the clouds, doing the deed as if God himself was responsible. As the sun crawled from gray at the bottom of the world to the very top of the morning, the beckoning brightness shook the sky, shattering the stillness, alerting God's quiet creatures as if they had been awaiting some shrill sound only they could monitor.

God's Psalmist writes of such moments: "God thunders across the waters. Brillant, his voice and his face, streaming brightness -- God across the flood waters. God's thunder tympanic, God's thunder symphonic. God's thunder smashes cedars; God topples the northern cedars."

My, oh my, what a beginning to the new day. What a beginning to this new day. God's power and might have called forth a new day. From dullness and calm, God thunders, and God speaks and it is good, again, and again.

God thunders. God shakes the world. God streams brightness, and a February day is created anew. Perhaps it was mundane; perhaps it was routine, but with God, there is nothing mundane or routine any longer.

The sun shines amid the darkness, and the creamy texture of love is lathered onto cloud and sky. That's the God who created us, who shapes us, who paints on the canvas of creation.

The Psalmist writes, "I give you all the credit, God -- you got me out of that mess, you didn't let my foes gloat. God, my God, I yelled for help and you put me together. God, you pulled me out of the grave, gave me another chance at life when I was down and out. All you saints! Sing your hearts out to God! Thank him to his face."

This morning, we were part of something spectacular, something new, something beautiful and creative and beyond norm. We were part of creation this morning, as sky touched earth and a day was created just for you and I.

"I yelled for help," the Psalmist writes," and you put me together. God, you pulled me out of the grave, gave me another chance at life when I was down and out."

Lungs are filled, and lungs are emptied. The rhythm of life carries on.

Wasn't it special to be a part of it all this morning? Feast at the table of the Lord, saints. Let us, this morning, treasure the gift, for it is as wonderful as it gets.