I’m sitting upright in bed sipping coffee, and looking out the picture window adjacent our bed. There’s a dusting of snow on the hills across the valley, like sifted icing sugar.
Gerry and I talked recently, about how blessed we are to look out at the majesty of creation first thing every morning. Today, having lived here for five years, the view is like a comfortable, old friend. It is new every morning, like mercy and love.
I am alone, save for the snoring Yorkie at the foot of my bed. Gerry has taken a second cup of coffee downstairs to his desk for his morning devotions. My Bible is on my lap, and I’m about to open it when I notice the most glorious red cresting the mountains to the east.
I toss back the covers and climb out of bed, padding to the window for a better look.
I stand at the window in awe at the beauty of it. For a fleeting moment I consider going for my phone to capture an unsatisfactory image of the glorious dawn. I’m getting better at resisting such urges. I breathe prayer, and watch the changing sky for a while—not long, but enough to be filled. By the time I settle back in my nest, the show in the sky is over.
Later, I will see images on social media of the morning splendour, and I will be glad I didn’t even try to capture it. Some things are best enjoyed, and then released. There will be other mornings—and evenings, too—when the heavens declare the glory that can’t be contained.