One evening recently, I hurried out the door for my walk just as the evening sun dipped below the horizon.
I was worried that I was too late,
disappointed that sunset had already happened,
certain I had missed the day’s sky splendor.
But I also knew I needed the exercise, because as I recently learned, anxiety is energy that needs to go somewhere, and I definitely needed to go somewhere!
My jumbled thoughts and scrambling feet rushed down the road, past the cemetery. I walked directly toward the spot where the sun had disappeared. The skyscape before me wasn’t spectacular, but it was nice, and I could feel my perspective shifting, broadening beyond my tiny (in-my-head) world.
I was worried that I was too late,
disappointed that sunset had already happened,
certain I had missed the day’s sky splendor.
But I also knew I needed the exercise, because as I recently learned, anxiety is energy that needs to go somewhere, and I definitely needed to go somewhere!
My jumbled thoughts and scrambling feet rushed down the road, past the cemetery. I walked directly toward the spot where the sun had disappeared. The skyscape before me wasn’t spectacular, but it was nice, and I could feel my perspective shifting, broadening beyond my tiny (in-my-head) world.
I breathed in deep draughts of the chill evening air, pausing just a moment to inhale the peace that surrounded me.
And then I glanced over my shoulder;
behind me,
to the northeast,
the sky was a show of fancy pink and gentle blue.
Oh.
And then I glanced over my shoulder;
behind me,
to the northeast,
the sky was a show of fancy pink and gentle blue.
Oh.
I watched the post-sunset color show lighting up the sky, and I pondered the message written there.
I surveyed the cows, the horses, grazing, heads down, every one of them unaware of what was spreading above them like a flood of glory.
I wondered how often I have been just like them.
Head down.
Tunnel vision.
Nose to the ground.
Focused only on what was in front of me, and completely oblivious to what was very near if only I had shifted my perspective to take it in.
I surveyed the cows, the horses, grazing, heads down, every one of them unaware of what was spreading above them like a flood of glory.
I wondered how often I have been just like them.
Head down.
Tunnel vision.
Nose to the ground.
Focused only on what was in front of me, and completely oblivious to what was very near if only I had shifted my perspective to take it in.
The color crept west and stained every cloud fragment magenta or steely blue.
And then everything went pinkest pink...
It took me awhile to get home that evening, walking frontwards, backwards, circling, trying to read the handwriting on the canvas spread above me. In Psalm 19:1, David wrote: “The heavens are telling the glory of God, and the sky above proclaims His handiwork.” (Psalm 19:1) Tonight, the heavens were telling and I was listening, and here's what I heard:
Don’t give up too soon. Even when you think it's too late, God has a way of showing up.
Watch for God's glory in unexpected places.
Look east at sunset.
Or north!
What have you heard the heavens proclaim?
Watch for God's glory in unexpected places.
Look east at sunset.
Or north!
What have you heard the heavens proclaim?
HumminB
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