The sun rose quietly this morning at 6:43 a.m., and it wasn’t much past that when I walked outside, as I do almost every early morning, to feel crisp air on my skin and to gaze at the sky.
Today, clouds looked like they had been loosely attached to a slate of strange, blue iridescence. I walked about the yard and into the quiet street, peering between rooftops and treetops, craning my neck to see. So interesting, so beautiful, I thought.
I love early morning and late evening when light is slant and the air is still and quiet. The fresh, crisp brightness of early morning reflects the Bible’s promise—“His mercies are new every morning.” And the sad, gentle warmth of evening light speaks of endings and grace and of hope for a beautiful forever.
God does not need to explain or defend Himself because His love is written all across the sky, and this is enough.
“Since the creation of the world, God’s invisible qualities—His eternal power and divine nature—have been clearly seen, being understood from what has been made, so that men are without excuse.” (Romans 1:20)
I went back inside the house to grab my camera, knowing that I am no photographer and that my little camera—set on “auto”—would not come close to capturing what I was seeing, but I wanted to catch the memory, catch the edges of the beauty, catch even a poor reflection of the sky. I also knew that much of the beauty of the sky was seen from my heart. I love the sky. I love the God who made it.
“The heavens declare the glory of God.”
“He who has eyes to see, let him see. . .”
I could see it this morning. My camera will never tell that story sufficiently, but there will be another evening and another morning.