The Sun Also Rises

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.