on sunrises

For the third day in a row, the rain continued its streak. It all but defiantly came down, making it hard to see through its bleakness.  It didn’t feel like the kind rain that arouses contentment and peace. It felt like the kind of rain that makes you feel trapped, stuck, heavy, blue.

Despite being a self-described pluviophile, I anxiously waited for it to pass; for the wet, cold wind to dissipate.

On the evening of the 3rd day, my little sister came home for the holiday weekend. We managed to do a lot of the things that we enjoy doing together, including a reoccurring favorite–watching the sunrise.

We’re a bit of sunrise junkies you could say. And mind you, most of our evenings spent together when she’s in town involve staying up far too late and enjoying way too much Pinot Noir.

It’s also a hard activity to do when it’s been a week of incessant cloud cover and precipitation.

But despite the inevitably groggy (and potentially cloudy) morning that would ensue, we chose to set our alarms for 5:45am, roll out of bed, and trek down to the oceanfront.

The forecast was finally calling for clear skies, but from the moment we woke up, the horizon looked anything but. {Greeeat}.

Our short car ride to the beach was relatively silent; the two of us still rubbing our eyes trying to wake up.

All around us, so much light was already filling the sky, making me a bit nervous.

{Ughh. We’re definitely not even going to see anything.}

“Did we check the right time? Has it already started rising?”

She quietly reassured me, “No, we’re fine.”

“Yea, you’re right I guess.”

Figures, I thought further. When you’re the light source to the world, you don’t rush things. You take your time and quietly ascend. You’re in competition with no one and nothing.

We soon pulled over to the first street past the boardwalk, parking as close to the sand as possible. Jumping out of the car, we stepped into the crisp, cool air and walked towards the beach.

{Yup. It’s freezing}. 

The clouds enveloped the horizon. “So much for clear skies”. “And it’s cold”, we bantered.

And still, there was a bit of divine color hovering over the ocean and holding our gaze. We stood and stared out in silence (again), just taking it all in.

10 minutes away from sunrise and it didn’t seem like there would be much else to see. Our hands quickly started numbing, making waiting in the car sound like a much better idea.

 So we sat, warming in the heat of my Jeep, waiting for the next move.

I sat sipping my hot coffee {unamused} when I heard His soft pull, “Come closer, I still have something to show you.”

I stepped out of the car, ignition still on, this time running towards the beach.

Ray by ray, like an outstretched hand, the sun lit up the clouds like a glow stick in a dark room.

The clouds were outlined in a neon pink, lit from below, and slowly starting to peel away from each other.


Out of nowhere, a perfect gap was created for the sun to peek through.


My sister rejoined me; us both now standing in awe watching the previously plain canvas become yet another one of His masterpieces.

Hot pinks turned to orange, and eventually to a piercing bright yellow. Despite the glare, we couldn’t look away.


There’s something so intimate, fresh, and pure about seeing the sun in these early moments. My senses collide, my focus zeros in, and for a moment, I’m taken aback with utter contentment.

I’m shown how His presence fills this place every day.

Even in the bitterness of constant rain storms.

Even in the doubt of surrounding cloud cover.

Even in my desire to know how things will go before they happen.

Even when I miss it.

And even when I choose not to see it.

Funny how sometimes, when we close our eyes, the more there is to see. When we let go, we let God.


We are reassured with the eternal hope that He is beautiful in all His ways.

This is my experiential knowledge of Him.

Because He simply is; present–always & forever.

The human mind is caught up in short-lived searching for understanding {mastery} instead of seeking Him {our Master}. We have a voracious appetite for figuring things out (Young).

I don’t know about you, but my hunger is fierce.

And if expectation is the root of all heartache, it is precisely when I stop expecting and start letting Him do the plotting that I find fullness and abundance in my life.


Feelings are the direct energetic responses to our experiences–the specific and vibrational communications from our bodies.


Emotions, rather, are feelings that have a mental component added (a thought, story, belief, pattern, picture) that can act as a prism through which the feeling is interpreted versus simply felt.


the feelings I get from bearing witness to a sunrise are nothing short of bringing light to darkness.  The emotions that result are sheer fascination, love, and admiration for a God that calls me to know all space is opportunity.

Who commands me to be a conductor of deep acceptance.
Outpour grace.
Implant positive imagery.
Declare it good.


Through cloud cover, cold, fog, rain; all conditions. Like the sun, He will raise us up.


If our God is for us, then who & what could ever be against?


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