I still think about this sunset.
Exactly a year ago, on a quiet, forgettable November night, I went to the woods for a quick escape before the weekend set in.
Gray clouds hang in the air, low to the shore. The ordinariness of the evening matches the mood of my week.
I don’t mind the cloud cover, or the dampness, or the solitude. The cool air is cleansing, chipping away at the constriction of my chest.
As I allow worries, and work, and deeply buried wants to simmer, the stillness of the waters strikes me. There is depth to this blue bay. It is a place of peace, to release those burdens.
And so I open my hands, and my heart. I surrender my struggle and let go of my longings. I send them out into the sea, because I know the captain of my soul is watching. He is with me. In charge of the wind, the tide, the creatures chirping, and the sun that is setting, He is restoring my soul along these still waters. He most surely can handle the whispers of my soul. He is in control.
He most surely can handle the whispers of my soul. He is in control.Tweet
I realize my eyes have closed, in reaction to the restfulness that is flowing from my smiling face to my feet. I slowly open them to see colors emerging in a choreographed dance that begins to take my breath away.
Immersed in waves of the most glorious sunset, everything within me is lifted heavenward. The sun has long left the horizon, lighting up those heavy clouds with every shade of yellow, orange, blue, pink, purple, and red.
Those deep, still waters provide a perfect mirror for the masterpiece overhead, doubling all of its breadth and beauty.
It is absolutely stunning.
I soak it all in. This was not just a sunset but a spiritual experience.
I finally leave the shoreline, reluctantly, knowing that I am seen and loved, and worthy of great beauty.
An attempted photographic capture of each phase:
That sunset sticks with me, a year—a long, hard, painful year—later. Perhaps it even got me through the next terrible twelve months to come? How often my imagination drew on the goodness of the memory!
It was not something for which a screen could suffice, and I see now how it’s timing was perfect. I didn’t orchestrate that evening, I just showed up. I am glad I know the director.
I went back again this weekend, thinking I might see an encore. I find more loveliness and delight, but nothing like last year. But even simple beauty can fill one with wonder.
Another long, cold, and I’m afraid, lonely winter looms ahead.
What are the memories you will draw on?
Where will your imagination take you?
Trust that the quiet hand of providence will take care of you. He is an artist, choreographer, and conductor that we cannot even comprehend.
He turns a gray, bland night of clouds into a glorious blaze of colorful creation. He is continually writing the most beautiful story of redemption. I will keep choosing to let him be the author of my life—I hope you will too.
He turns a gray, bland night of clouds into a glorious blaze of colorful creation. He is continually writing the most beautiful story of redemption.Tweet