Morning Reflections on the Sun and the Son

Right now, the light coming in my window is nearly colorless. If there was a cast, it would be grey, because all the landscape is washed out and the saturation gone in this cold fall light.

When I took this picture a moment ago, it was orange. All orange and fiery and aggressively enveloping everything in it's path. I noticed from inside the house as my curtains lit up and reminded me of a bush in the desert--on fire and not consumed.

The sun itself, is exactly the same now as when I took the picture. It shines with no less intensity and fervor. And yet, as a cloud passes by, the blaze of glory from earlier seems almost...watery. Forgettable. Or worse, harsh and austere; shedding dutiful light but not cheer.

Since I've been here for more than one trip around the sun, I'm aware of how the factors of distance, position, and the atmosphere all affect my perception of the sun. I feel comforted in the wan light of this morning that there will be a day for certain when I can stretch out in shorts and whine about the heat again. I know there will be another sunrise with a fiesta of colors. I know for certain that tonight's utter darkness is not a rejection of my presence...and that it will not last long.

In a way, my assurance of the power of the sun, has nothing to do with my perception of the sun. It's too proven. If I were an infant, I might wonder at times of darkness or cold. I might hold too fearfully to seasons of color and heat. But, I am not. I have even moved past that stage of white-knuckled faith that winter won't last forever, long nights have an end, and the oppressive heat of a dry summer will fade to a crisp fall. Now, my trust seems whole. I am also not indifferent now that I don't cling tightly to these truths. I know the light will change. I know the sun will not.

"To have faith is to be sure of the things we hope for, to be certain of the things we cannot see." Hebrews 11:1

-PH