Andrea Sanborn

I know that sunlight and shadow will meet between the trees this morning, one blessing the other’s retreat.

I know that peace perches in the tissued pages of my ancient story, and yours.

Time and tide waits for no man, the poet said, and neither morning’s cool breath or the pregnant, humming twilight pause on their way through the hours, the minutes we are gifted here.

The Preacher called it vanity, these comings and goings, the blooming and fading, the unquenched thirsts of this brief life. He didn’t know, did he?

I know the morning comes, the patterned pastel clouds glowing with anticipation. I know Heaven’s music whispers just beyond perception. He will come to us like the rain, like the spring rain refreshing the earth. Bringing life. Bringing hope to our parched and weary souls.

Every sparrow, every seed testifies to His care. His life, coursing through our spirits, lifts our faces, our hands, to Heaven.

I know these days and breaths are all leading us somewhere, each moment quietly ordered to a grand finale.

Let us hold them gently as they go, breathing out blessing over our loved ones, before the day dawns and the morning star rises in our hearts.

It’s never just another day, when He makes it. When He makes us.

This I know.