Andrea Sanborn

One of the best things about living on a lake is being able to see the sunrise. Every morning I watch as the darkness fades and the golden light slips between the trees, across the water and into my living room. Some mornings remain dull and gray. Others come with an explosion of color. But they always come. Morning always arrives.

As the earth rotates, it is always morning somewhere. Someone is looking to the east, watching night give way to day, every minute of every hour.

God said that His mercies are new every morning, washing over our world. In a burst of wonder or a quiet knowing they come, a daily gift of hope. A fresh provision of grace to a desperate world.

While we sleep, the oceans surge; a father weeps; a babe is born. While we dream, the nations rage; fireflies dance; an orphan finds a home. As we take our rest, the river of life bears us along in the company of created ones all seeking, lifting hopeful eyes toward the light. Toward life.

We wake, each morning a resurrection of sorts, our bodies and our hearts rising from the darkness, thankful.

“Let us acknowledge the Lord”, the prophet Hosea urges. “Let us press on to acknowledge him. As surely as the sun rises, he will appear; he will come to us like the winter rains, like the spring rains that water the earth.”

The darkness we’re living in now is bound to give way to the light. The blackness of the night will soon be broken by the sky’s faint glimmer, by hope, by the morning star rising in our hearts.

We are a morning people, waiting with bated breath for glory. Knowing that it is coming, just over the horizon.

There is no night in the land we’re headed towards. Only ever, always, morning.