You've Got this

 Usually you get to see the sunrise once each day. I felt like I got six today when I didn’t even think I would get one. 

There is nothing more beautiful than when the sun bursts through the clouds and reveals itself, warms your face, causes you to squint because the light is so bright. It is letting you know it is there and shining right on you, as if it rose just for you. And anyone looking at it can feel the same way, all at the same time. Such is the power of the sunrise. 

I walked to the beach with my camera bag, towels, cup of tea and tripod in the dark to watch it rise. Today, there was a thick dark cloud covering the sun, it spread right across the place where the sun was trying to rise. It was one of those mornings I felt was not going to be a good morning for pictures.  The cloud cover was too thick, too encompassing, too consuming. I sat down with my camera in the bag on one side of me and the tripod in its case the other side of me, deciding maybe it wasn’t even worth getting the camera out at all this morning. I watched the sun wrestle the clouds. I suppose it could have been worse, I could have looked out my window, seen the cloud cover and turned over and gone back to bed. 

 I watched the sun try for 40 minutes to rise out of the cloudcover. I got distracted and started taking photos of my mug and “3:16” anklet and wondered if this was enough of a reminder today. My mug says, “you’ve got this”, quoting Matthew 9:26 “… but with God all things are possible”. 

The sun would come and then the thick cloud would cover it again and then it would disappear and then come again ... over and over this morning ... until finally it stayed. Triumph at last. I am glad I stayed and watched, and the process was still beautiful. 

As I watched it unfold I wondered where was my focus? On the dark, thick, all-consuming cloud.  Or was it on the spray of light that told me the sun was there and although not in full effect yet, it was showing me that it had not gone away, given up or that it would not be defeated. Each time it was like the sun rose for the first time, a new perspective, a new photo and then it left again. The dark cloud would not deter its purpose and mission to shine today. As you can guess, you know where most of my focus was. It was on the dark cloud. And yet, every time the light broke through, I couldn’t miss it. It was overwhelming at times and unmissable. In fact, I got to see it 6 times, in case I missed it the first time. The light will always break through. 

 

The sun eventually overcame the dark cloud and rose above it and filled the sky with its radiance and my heart was warm again. But the trick is staying there, isn’t it? I packed up my camera and tripod, towels and precious cup that said, “All things are possible” and with a smile, wandered back to the van. 

10 minutes later I placed my things on the table and bumped the cup and it smashed all over the ground. This cup was not going to triumph over this defeat. A man walking past said, “oops … can you fix it with glue?” I frowned and said, “no, this one is unfixable”.  Not all things are possible in this broken world and within 10 minutes.  of such a wonderful revelation I could feel myself heading into the thick cloud again. 

 

Julian of Norwich promises that, in spite of appearances to the contrary, all is well. Not just that creation was beautifully made to begin with, and that it will all work out in the end, but that everything is all right at every moment, if we could only look through the eyes of love. Such a perspective is difficult to sustain, Julian would be the first to admit. In rare moments of unitive consciousness—watching the sun rise, maybe, or giving birth, or singing to God in community—we may have fleeting glimpses of the cosmic design and see that it is good. But then the veil drops again and we forget.^[1]

I turn to look up and see the sun still shining. Not all is possible, but anything God is in, I have to believe is possible, even when I can’t feel or see it. 

 

A timely message comes to me today from my wise mum: 

 

“Beauty comes from a spirit that has weathered many hardships in life and somehow continues with resilience. Grace can be found in a soul who ages softly, even amid the tempest” ... she continues. “Perhaps the loveliest of all is the one whose gentle heart bears a hundred scars, yet still finds a way to pick up the lamp one more time, to light the way for love.” 

 

Yes, today, I thought I was getting up to photograph a sunrise, but I walked away being reminded that in beauty and pain, He is always LOVE, and His love never changes. His light will break through. All things are possible. Help me Lord, for that to always be my focus. Perhaps He really was saying, “You’ve got this" and I clearly need to hear it more than once.

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^[1] Mirabai Starr, “Introduction,” The Showings of Julian of Norwich: A New Translation (Hampton Roads: 2013), xix