The Coming Light

Our living room has one large picture window facing east, and another west.

One morning, I sat gazing east, watching the sky and clouds become illuminated in soft golden peach and dusty lavender—filled with gratitude as I witnessed the silent yet stunning announcement that the sun was on its way. The colors continued to shift and change as the source drew closer and closer to the horizon.

I turned in the opposite direction, and there to the west I could see the sunlight already touching the treetops, drenching them in that same golden glow—a quiet part of the chorus of expectation.

Beauty that filled the entire expanse of the sky, played out in perfect silence.

And I found myself wondering how many things happen around, above, and below me each day—silent, and waiting to be noticed. There are signs, if we are willing to lift our eyes.

Even on cloudy mornings, the light comes gradually, and the birds begin their song before the sun is fully risen. The dawn faithfully announces itself in so many ways—more than I could ever fully take in.

It mirrors something true about God, I think. That God shows up for us—every single day. Faithfully. Quietly. In more ways than I could ever possibly know. And with Him comes a glory and beauty that is alive, dynamic—and always worth waiting for.

If this reflection stirred something in you, you’re warmly invited to receive Notes from the Bower each month—quiet letters filled with nature reflections, glimpses from the studio, and small moments of beauty and joy. You can join here.