My bedroom window looks out on our pasture. Grass enclosed by an old fence stretches all the way to the tree line at the back of the property. The old weathervane on one of the fence posts sways gently when the wind blows, and if you’re outside at the right time you can hear it creak. It’s still out there, and quiet. You can feel the calm of the country when you walk alone. It’s a comforting place to be.
When the sun rises in the morning, the light breaks through the tree line, pours over the pasture, fence, and creaky weathervane until it finally spills through the window of my bedroom and brings morning to our home.
The sun has risen in such a manner each morning since we first moved here in early December, though I have only witnessed the entire production a handful of times.
It’s funny though, because it hasn’t always been that way. I normally wake up in time for every sunrise. I like to climb out of bed in the dark, early hours of the day to go sit somewhere and watch the world outside come alive. Seeing the darkness dissipate and the light conquer brings me hope. I work hard to make sure I see it each day, to remind myself that the light has indeed come into the world, and the darkness has not overcome it.
But over the last month, I’ve miss quite a few sunrises. My body was tired, and over the holiday break, I took advantage of the flexible schedule and slept longer in the mornings. I needed it, and feel better having rested more. But I missed those sunrises. I missed the daily reminder of what’s true being painted in creation.
Now that both work and school are back in full swing and the luxury of sleeping late is gone, I’ve returned for the most part to those early mornings. The light still pierces the darkness. Morning puts an end to the night. I feel hope rise inside of me as I watch it happen.
But you know what?
Even when I was sleeping, and not there to see it happen, the darkness couldn’t keep out the light.
Sometimes it’s easy to forget that God’s plans continue moving forward even when we cannot see them. Sometimes it’s easy to think that in order for His work to be done in a mighty way, we must witness it. Sometimes it’s easy to place our hope in the evidence of light overcoming darkness, rather than in the promise He made that it would.
The good news is that even when we cannot see it, He is working. The sun rises each morning and dispels the darkness, whether we are up to watch, or asleep on our pillows. He moves all things in perfect wisdom and sovereignty, even when we cannot see it.