There is only one window in our house that faces east. It is a misfit window -- smaller than all the others even though it is of the same manufacturer. Why the builder choose to put a window there -- just south of the peak of the garage roof -- has always annoyed me. No other house in the subdivision has a window there. But, no other house has this wall facing east.
This morning as I lay in bed I realized why. The light of the nearing winter solstice shone through that window long before the sun rose. I watched the sun rise as I was getting ready to leave. It was so beautiful. There were colors flowing through the sky along the horizon as though someone were painting on the outside of my window panes. I watched as it turned lighter and I could see the roofs of the houses across the way. The colors were most brilliant just before the sun reached the horizon. Once its white light burst its celestial prison, the colors began to fade, replaced by the brilliance of the winter sun.
How apt. The rising sun is much like the Advent season. We stand in awe of what is unfolding before us. The colors of possibilities amaze us. Even when the clouds come, they add texture to the ever-evolving scene before us. We go about our way, busy in our waiting, and waiting amidst our busyness. Christmas -- the season when the church color is white -- replaces the colors of this season with a brilliance that will fade our time of waiting.
How apt. The rising sun, and with it Advent, are also like the birthing of this faith community. The rising sun or the season of waiting, like the birth of a new faith community reminds me that this is a new day--a day filled with new possibilities. This is what church planting is all about. Its about hope, its about anticipation, its about the astounding grace that God gives us. Maybe the small misfit window at the South peak of my garage is God's astounding grace for me, enabling me to look into the heart of God and see the glory of this new day.
This morning as I lay in bed I realized why. The light of the nearing winter solstice shone through that window long before the sun rose. I watched the sun rise as I was getting ready to leave. It was so beautiful. There were colors flowing through the sky along the horizon as though someone were painting on the outside of my window panes. I watched as it turned lighter and I could see the roofs of the houses across the way. The colors were most brilliant just before the sun reached the horizon. Once its white light burst its celestial prison, the colors began to fade, replaced by the brilliance of the winter sun.
How apt. The rising sun is much like the Advent season. We stand in awe of what is unfolding before us. The colors of possibilities amaze us. Even when the clouds come, they add texture to the ever-evolving scene before us. We go about our way, busy in our waiting, and waiting amidst our busyness. Christmas -- the season when the church color is white -- replaces the colors of this season with a brilliance that will fade our time of waiting.
How apt. The rising sun, and with it Advent, are also like the birthing of this faith community. The rising sun or the season of waiting, like the birth of a new faith community reminds me that this is a new day--a day filled with new possibilities. This is what church planting is all about. Its about hope, its about anticipation, its about the astounding grace that God gives us. Maybe the small misfit window at the South peak of my garage is God's astounding grace for me, enabling me to look into the heart of God and see the glory of this new day.
Happy Sunrises!
Peaceful Advent!
Merry Christmas!