Sunday's sunrise looked just like that epic one from weeks ago—same impossible oranges, same fire painted across the water. I, however, was different. This time, I wasn't anticipating disaster but processing triumph. God had to prove that when I finally stepped back from the conductor's podium, He could orchestrate something more beautiful than my rigid score ever allowed.
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The Thanksgiving Before the Sun
Every morning, I arrive at the pier with empty hands and an open heart, ready for whatever sunrise God chooses to paint. But Thanksgiving? I arrive at Thanksgiving with a script written in my mother's hand, frustrated when God rewrites the scenes.
When Glory Fades: Recognizing Divine Yes in the Waiting
Thursday morning, standing in that tangerine fire, I'd felt held by something infinite. The sunrise was teaching me something about recognition: This is what arrival feels like. This is what yes tastes like—metallic and sweet on your tongue. But when the publishing offer came, where was the orange glow? Sometimes the holiest ground is right there in the middle, suspended between shores.
Between the Rocks: Finding Sanctuary in the Waiting
Sanctuary isn't the absence of uncertainty. It's not found in answered prayers staying answered or circumstances finally settling into place. Sanctuary is the practice of returning to God in the midst of unknowns—the daily choice to sit between the rocks and seek the Rock.
Setting Your Watch by the Sun
My new psychiatrist asked how I get my needs met when I'm busy meeting everyone else's. The answer: At sunrise, every day. I meet God there. For a year now, I've approached dawn like an altar. I can't set my watch by people anymore – their consistency wavers. But the sun rises because God commands it. Every morning, without fail, He proves His faithfulness.
When the Power Goes Out
My car wouldn't start at the pier, the school had no power, and I faced twenty-five sixth graders in a dark classroom with no lesson plan. But sometimes restoration comes in unexpected ways – through jumper cables from someone who loves us, through teaching children to find peace in uncertainty, through learning that even in the dark, we can still find our own light.
When Sun and Moon Share the Sky: Faith in an Unequally Yoked Marriage
My husband believes in God but isn't a Christian like I am. A pastor warned us about being “unequally yoked”; I married Tony anyway. Yesterday, watching sunrise, I noticed the sun and moon sharing the sky. When Tony fell from the roof, I saw how different lights can coexist beautifully.
Writer's Growth 