My daughter, Madi, attached a smiling face emoji next to her text message: “Your phone is full of the backyard.” My other daughter commented, perhaps trying to humor me, “Wow, beautiful pic of the sunrise.” My wife added to the group text, “We can never move. He loves his backyard views.”
They were responding to another group text with pictures and video clips of my backyard, a string of images where I’m trying to capture the rising sun as it bursts forth on the horizon. I will send them pics of the setting sun, too. And the night sky: all from my backyard.
Some people complain about the early morning chill in the winter or the warm evening breeze in the spring or summer. But I’ll take them both. I’m blessed to be able to step outside and welcome the sun’s announcement of a new day and hours later, watch it sign off as the curtain falls on the eastern horizon.
Mainly, I send the morning shots since it’s the crème de la crème of my day. I’m not sure why I do it: it’s as if I can somehow catch that moment and crystallize it, like I can bundle it up and share my joy through my phone.
And I listen too, not just to the birds and crickets, the wind and the rain. I will tell you this if you won’t tell anyone: I’ve stood out there in the wind and rain at that hour. And I believe it’s perfectly fine to do that, on occasion and not for long. But a little warning: should you do such a thing, don’t tell anyone who doesn’t know you well, especially when you’re shopping at the grocery store. The distinct possibility exists that they will raise their eyebrows, squinch their face, and before you can finish what you’re saying, they will have ducked into the next aisle, leaving you standing alone, talking to yourself in the peanut butter and jelly section.
Strange (should I be surprised?), it’s in those moments, with the wind and the rain or snow or sleet, that God whispers his love, reminding me that he doesn’t change, though the weather does in a snap. From the rising sun to its setting, the fickle weather reminds me I’m not in control of the day. I’m not God. God had to remind Job of that in his moment of confusion: “Have you commanded the morning since your days began, and caused the dawn to know its place” (Job 38:12).
All I can do is greet it. David did that with music: “Awake, my glory! Awake, O harp and lyre! I will awake the dawn!” (Psalm 57:8). I leave the music to myself (My neighbors appreciate that), but I love to be there, witnessing the Lord awakening the dawn.
On those occasions, when I awake at 3 or 4 in the morning, I step outside, usually while my coffee is brewing. I’m not crazy enough to stand there in the cold mist, but I do look to the night sky when it’s clear. Where I live, I can usually get a spectacular view of the stars. My brother-in-law showed me an app where I can see the names of the stars and constellations with them, and sometimes I can figure that out, but mostly I gaze into the heavens and ponder. And most always, Psalm 19:1 comes to my mind: “The heavens declare the glory of God. /The skies display his craftsmanship.”
And I thank the Lord for the sky, and the morning hour, and for my eyes to see it. Although my phone can’t capture the luminary’s brilliance, I take a picture anyway, and later, I’ll look at it and ponder the moment I pondered earlier, for it points to the miracle of another morning, not just out there, but in my soul.
But one thing I’ve learned NOT to do at that early hour: send that group text then, awakening all my family at 4 a.m.