The Dawning of a New Day

“I’ve found myself repeatedly thinking about how all the parts that have felt most special to me have been because of having/making/taking the time to just do it all in a slower way.”

I texted that message to my sister-in-law the day after Christmas, as we checked in with one another about how the big day had gone.  And it was true:  We really did enjoy such a special Christmas, and the parts that stand out most in my mind as having made it so are the simplest things… most of which, incidentally, looked nothing like what I had planned or expected.

As this past week unfolded, I ended up thinking often of things that have happened this past year. 

I wonder if most of us do that in the space between Christmas and New Year’s?  As I did, I couldn’t help but see so many parallels between that declaration I made about Christmas and the one I could make about so much of what has most profoundly impacted me throughout this entire year…

Several weeks ago, we had the chance to spend a few days in a place that, over the past few years, has earned an incredibly special spot in our hearts. 

I’ve lost count of the number of days and nights we’ve spent there, but I know that it doesn’t yet feel like nearly enough.

On the first morning of our most recent visit, a dear friend messaged me.  Upon realizing we were there, she wanted to ask if, by chance, I had taken a photo of the sunrise.  (…We had arrived late and exhausted the night before.  Add to that the fact that the sleep we get there tends to be some of the best of our lives…) I had to tell her that, as the sun came up that morning, I had been nowhere but sound asleep.  She explained her reason for asking, and I loved what she had in mind. More than that, though, I love my friends.  The chance to do things for them that feel meaningful to them blesses me.  I assured her that I would be more than happy to try and take the photo she’d requested the following morning. 

I went to bed that night with my camera and a pile of warm clothes at the ready.  Noting what time my weather app predicted the sunrise, I set my alarm to allow enough predawn margin to get myself into place by the right moment. 

It turns out I didn’t even need an alarm.  (I’ve noticed how that tends to prove true when I like the thing I get to wake up and do.  That feels worth paying attention to…)  Waking before it ever sounded, I switched it off.  Having slept in thick socks, I pulled on some boots, a warm hat, and my husband’s heavy fleece jacket over my pajamas.  Camera in hand, I quietly slid open the glass bedroom door and slipped out into the hushed stillness of frosty morning air.  Making my way across the expanse of the lawn, toward the water where I knew to look for the sunrise, I chuckled at the thought of anyone seeing me – dressed as I was and at that hour.  I must have made quite a sight! 

I chose a spot, aimed the camera, and took a few practice shots to make sure I liked the angle.  A warm glow had already begun to bathe everything in a soft light that made a beautiful, peaceful place even more so.  I moved around a bit, testing out different angles and periphery, keeping my eyes aware of the spot where I thought the sun should appear. 

Minutes ticked by, drawing closer to the time when my app had said the sun would rise.  Despite my layers, I grew colder as I waited.

Yet simultaneously, I felt contently warmed by the chance to see the beauty around me in such a fresh and quiet way. 

A flock of geese and several pairs of ducks, gliding just high enough above the water to create their mirror images on its surface; the sparkle of first light against the windows of a place that holds so much history and so many memories – including many precious ones for us. 

Off to my right, a rustling in the trees made my heart speed up.  (“If ‘something’ were to ‘get me’ right now, who would even know?  And when they found me, I’d be dressed like this!?”)  As usual, reality proved much more benign than the story I’d concocted in my imagination:  It was only a deer - who clearly sensed I posed no threat. 

I glanced at the clock as it turned to the minute when I’d expected to see the sunrise.  Still, nothing on the horizon changed.  

I began to question:  

Maybe that was it?  It appeared to be a clear day, but maybe that’s as defined as the sunrise would look that day. 

I had never deliberately watched for the sun to rise here before, so had I chosen the wrong spot? 

Had I missed it completely?  

Maybe the time had come to give up and head back inside. 

I glanced down at my camera to check the last images I had captured – not what I had hoped for, but certainly still beautiful.  I also glanced at the clock one more time, finding it hard to believe how long that minute had lasted as I watched and waited.  

After the few seconds those glances took, I lifted my gaze once more, and that’s when I saw it: 

That spot I’d been watching – the horizon of the opposite shore – showed an extra glow which, in a matter of seconds and right before my very eyes, became the most spectacular sunrise I have ever witnessed, much less photographed! 

To think I had been just seconds from turning my back and walking away:  From missing it…

Back at the cottage, I transferred a few of the images to my phone and sent them to my friend.  She expressed her gratitude for my having gotten up early to capture them.  I expressed my gratitude at having had the chance to do so.  What a beautiful morning it had given me!  I came home from that wonderful trip counting that experience as one of several special memories we’d made over the course of those few days. 

I’ve looked back at the photos a few times since then, but otherwise hadn’t thought much about the experience again until this morning, just one day from the end of the Advent study I’ve found so meaningful this season.  I found myself instantly transported back to that morning when I read the words, “….is the beauty of not knowing in watching the horizon, waiting for the sun to rise?” 

At that moment, it came into clear focus how so many of the simplest, most unexpected pieces of this year all fit together to create the image - and the lesson - I most want to carry with me into the next one.    

Honestly, I don’t even know if my friend ever used the photos from that morning for what she’d had in mind.  If she did, and she wants me to know, she’ll tell me.  It really doesn’t matter, though, because I see now what real purpose taking them ended up serving for me. 

I couldn’t have known then that, several weeks later, I’d reflect on the experience and recognize it as not only one of the sweetest moments of, but also a metaphor for my entire year. 

How many of the best parts of this past year – or of the past couple, for that matter – have happened along the way to where I thought I’d been headed? 

How many of them were so simple, yet so much more beautiful than I could have imagined?  Regardless of whether they turned out the way I thought I’d planned.    

As I waited that morning, I’d never doubted that the sun would rise. 

Why?  Well, because it has risen on every single day I have known so far, whether or not I was watching for it.    

I can’t think about that without also thinking: 

If I can trust completely that the sun will rise each day, how much more can I trust the One who made the sun – and makes it rise? 

The One who has orchestrated every one of my days – whether or not I’ve recognized it? 

What is meant for me, God will not let me miss. 

Even when I worry that I might be in the “wrong” place, I can still find purpose and beauty – right where He has me - as long as I keep my eyes trained to see it.   

Maybe the real beauty isn’t necessarily in getting what I expected, but instead in the hope of waiting and watching for and believing in it - and in the peace I can find by trusting that process.

When I feel like giving up and walking away, maybe I should take one more look.  His timing often doesn’t match mine – but His never fails to be perfect.    

I can’t know what God has for me on any given day, let alone what the New Year will bring.  But I do know how grateful I feel to have such lasting impressions from the moments I’ve gotten to live this year. May I take them with me into the next and let them help inform the way I live my life from this day forward. 

As I look to a New Year, I certainly have things I hope for and believe could happen.  Things that make me look forward to waking up in the morning. 

I hope you do, too.   

But I also want to remember to slow down and take the time to notice all the beauty in, and to learn all I can from, the things I experience as I wait to see those things for which I hope and believe.

I hope you will, too. 

Someday, we just might look back and remember those as the best parts. 

Happy New Year.