I have this thing where I love taking pictures of the sun. Yesterday, when I was out on the back deck, I was wrapped up in a blanket writing, when I looked up and noticed the sun setting.
At first I thought it was just beautiful. I was like, “Wow. Look at that. Such a beautiful inspiring view.” Then I was like, “No, this needs to be captured in a picture.”
After taking this picture I continued to just sit there and stare at the sun. (Probably not the best thing to do to my already terrible eyes.) Then I just looked around the yard and began to take in the full beauty of what was around me. One thing I had read in Celebration of Discipline was the discipline of meditation. I thought that sitting on the deck in full view of the sunset would be a good time to meditate. I closed my laptop and turned over my phone.
As I sat there, this thought crossed my mind: Everything the sun touches is touched by heaven. Or some sappy thing like that. Well, the whole yard wasn’t bathed in sunlight. Rather there was one strip of land, almost like a golden pathway (NOT a yellow brick road) leading to this small clearing a few feet back into the woods. I walked down to that single strip of sunlight and walked in it, as if I was walking toward the sun itself. When I got to the edge of the wood I stopped. That glen was not on our property. It was on our neighbor’s, and technically, I’m not allowed back there. I turned around and began to walk away, but I quickly turned back.
The sun was setting. My feet were bare and cold, turning purple. I myself was still wrapped in a blanket. The only way to get to that clearing bathed in light was either to walk over a graveyard of dead leaves raked there over the years by my family and risk poison ivy, or to cross over to my neighbor’s yard and safely get there on mowed grass. I risked the mounds of leaves. I wasn’t sure what I was stepping on, but I knew I had to get there.
The grass in that area was the softest I had ever felt it. The whole area was covered in moss and fresh green grass. It was the greenest grass I had ever seen. It was this small area, and the middle was covered in ash. I’m assuming it was a controlled fire by my neighbors to create this little area. I don’t know, but it was as if I stepped beyond earth and into a supernatural place. It felt sacred, and I was thankful I wasn’t wearing shoes. I felt like Moses standing before the burning bush. It was a holy place. Certainly not a place for sinners to walk; I felt (like what is talked about in Romans 6 and 7) my chains and slavery to sin break, and a fresh binding and servant hood to righteousness form.
I’m not even sure how to explained what happened there. It was a sense of renewal, purpose, forgiveness, and calling. A fresh outpouring of grace. I am convinced I was standing in the presence of God receiving a calling just as astounding as Moses being told he was going to lead the Israelites to the Promise Land. Leaving felt like I stepped out of glory. I entered into a moment where perhaps, if I stayed a bit longer, I might have seen God’s back like Moses did.
I don’t think I’ll look at the sun the same way again. I’ve always been in awe of it, but now that holds a new meaning for me.