One of the benefits to the days
getting shorter is that lately the sun is rising through the trees at just
about the time I'm getting ready for work. Makes for a pretty view out the
window.
I'm reminded of a late-summer
morning fiveish years ago, when I was determined to get the full New Michigander
Experience by witnessing my first sunrise over Lake Huron.
The air was gray, but a wash of
light was beginning to warm up the trees in the back yard. I tiptoed past my
sleeping husband, eased the van keys off of the dresser, and slunk out the
kitchen door.
Minutes later I pulled into a
parking spot at Seagull Point. I turned off the engine and prepared to be awed.
My eyes scanned the dark horizon,
anxious to catch the day’s first glimpse of the sun. I was tense, alert. I
didn’t want to miss a thing. I waited.
And waited.
The water moved restlessly, jostling
a seagull who had settled in for a sit. It rolled across the length of the
shore like a man sealing an envelope. In the distance, several silent lights
blinked mysteriously.
The day was beginning, and it was
lovely. But still, the sun refused to rise. The event for which I’d come, the
arrival of the king of the sky in all its majesty, simply would not begin.
I drummed my fingers on the steering
wheel. I rolled my neck and stretched my shoulders. I cleaned my fingernails. I
wished, fervently, that the sun would get a move on.
A toad galumphed across the parking
lot. I thought of my family back at the house, probably still dreaming happy
dreams and tucked in up to their chins. ...Oh, dear. It occurred to me that I
hadn't turned off my alarm clock. My family was going to be roused from their
peaceful slumber by the waah, waah, waah, waah of my buzzer.
The horizon had grown pinker now,
but there was still no sun peeking out to steal a look at the new day. I had
rushed out here to see a sunrise, but the sun was not rising. I sighed. This timing
wasn't working out for me. I had things to do, people to see, alarms to turn
off.
The color had reached out across the
water now, and the ripples of the lake reflected back a glorious, undulating
rosy glow. Stay, the waves called to me. Stay, and wait a bit longer. The sun
will come.
I thought of my sleeping children
and the alarm clock, and the to-do list on the counter. Waiting would have to
wait. I pulled onto the road and headed home.
As
surely as the sun rises, [the Lord] will appear. Hosea 6:3
Waiting patiently isn't easy. Not
when we're waiting for the sun, and not when we're waiting for God.
I don't know about you, but I can
get kind of demanding with God. I get it into my head that I have an important
life schedule to keep, and I want Him to keep up. I get impatient when He
doesn't seem to be paying heed to my timetable and wish that He would get a
move on.
Our wait for God to make His
appearance in our lives is often filled with fidgets and sighs. Lord, we pray, hurry
up and help me find my keys. I don’t know how I’m going to pay this bill, Lord,
so send me money – quickly. I’m lonely; I’m restless; I’m unfulfilled. Heavenly
Father, make it all better. And please, dear God, do it today. I’m waiting.
Which, when you think about it, is
kind of funny. As funny as becoming impatient with the sun for not moving fast
enough.
In the wisdom of creation, the sun
does not pop up to lighten my sky whenever I want it to. Goodness, what a mess
things would be if it did. No, the sun arrives on the horizon calmly, steadfastly,
at just the right moment.
The sun will come...and our loving God
will appear. We look for Him and tap our feet when we do not see Him, but He is
as present as the sun, as reliable as the sunrise. And when the time is just
right, He will let us see what He's got planned for His impatient children.
Not all mornings are glorious. Maybe I won’t find my
keys. Maybe I won’t be able to pay that bill. Maybe my mom’s cancer won’t go
away. Maybe the sunrise that is coming is not the one for which I’m hoping.
But I know that the sun will rise. Because the Son rose. On Easter morning He leapt from His tomb,
defeating death, liberating light, and claiming us as His own. And with that
knowledge, that certainty, as certain as the morning sun on the Sunrise Side,
we know, we KNOW, that we are God’s beloved people for whom He will always be
present. As surely as the sun rises, He will appear.
How, how could I turn away, sighing with impatience? The Lord
of all, who loves me, is as certain as the sun. When the time is just right,
I'll see the good that He has been working in my life. In the meantime, maybe
I'll find a day to mosey to the lake and take in a sunrise. It'll be worth the
wait.
First published in The Alpena News on October 14, 2017.
