Somewhere in the grey, the sun breaks through, like so many sunrises I have seen in weeks past.
Sometimes it is a flaming, perfect orb hanging in the mist. Other times, it is a sliver of pink among lavender fluff. Still others, it is a golden haze.
Sunrises are beautiful, but in general tend to be less dramatic than sunsets. Pastels frequent the early hours of life, and it is easy to overlook their gift-ness.
In some ways, the sunrises keep me going.
They remind me of His promises. New life. Hope. He is with me. Blessed assurance, sure as the earth turns to warm her sides in the sun.
When I avoid Him, I fall into grey. Life is dimmer, and I miss so much--joy, experience, and chances to love. I become distracted by my own flesh, my own selfishness, my own bitterness--and it pains my soul how stubborn I am.
Even here, there is Grace. To begin again, each day anew. To hike this road. To turn to the One who loves my soul. The One who rises over my sinful darkness and spreads the fog and clouds away. The One who gave all, from Whom all is gift.