Waking in the dark, living in the light

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, the larger to take charge of Day, The smaller to be in charge of Night; and he made the stars. God placed them in the heavenly sky to light up Earth And oversee Day and Night, to separate light and dark. 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. 

I woke in the dark time  asking myself questions that bring clarity. As I stuffed down a peanut-butter snack (breakfast of champions?), slurped by hazelnut coffee, thoughts were running through my head. “Why am I so I tired? Why didn’t I sleep earlier? What am I going to eat?”

These things generally don’t serve any useful purpose, and in some cases, in the thickness of the dark, they might even hurt. But the whole idea behind using questions is to take conscious control of the direction of our day. So the ideas shoot and the questions are struck:

• What do I have to look forward to today?
• What’s absolutely perfect about my life?
• How can I make today absolutely awesome?
• What’s the best thing that could happen today?

By asking myself questions while the sun is still trying to wake, I think we can start to shift the focus of my mind toward all of the things I want to happen, and maybe, just maybe I can turn the darkness toward light.

This morning was the first morning in the rest of my life (really, really true). So, what I want most of it is to see what can live. This is my offering, Dear Lord. This is all I have. This is all I am. I give you my life, and I watch you take it and make something good from it.

Darkness becomes light.

Weakness becomes strength.

Fear becomes courage.

I give you my life because you gave your life for me.

That's what happened this morning, in the dark, with you and I.