The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.
Dawn breaks habitually and punctually; the celebrated morning star making its certain journey across a sleepy skyline, trickling into dreamer’s windows, ready or not.
The alarm sounds and the urge to hit snooze overcomes any and all discipline, and the longing to slip down just a bit further into a sea of mangled sheets and oversized throw pillows declares its triumph over sheer will yet again.
Finally, hesitatingly, the fibers of dreamland begin to peel away like layers of fine gossamer to reveal the dawning of a morning light that’s come too soon. Sleep lingers in the air clouding vision and cognition, but feet remember and carry on perfunctorily. The biting splash of cold reality on flushed cheeks retrieve fragments of long stemmed glasses teeming with the deep crimson of celebration and sounds of merriment from familiar lips. It had been a day preceded by erratic tears and amorphous angst born out of the depraved lie that tirelessly insists it has not been enough. This life. This gift. These years. Wasted. Irredeemable. But digging heels feverishly into a moving sidewalk proves all for naught, for Father Time heeds not the pleas of man; without a momentary falter, the sun rises, warming the hilltops with its golden sanction, spilling forth the promise of a new day undefiled.
Mortal eyes struggle as they are burdened with the task of sight. But the trees, oh, they are not troubled with such triviality. Impervious to the lies, they raise their limbs heavenward, spinning their leaves to receive the warm rays with a jovial hospitality, catching them artfully and tossing them about with playful delight, casting them to and fro for all of creation: an open invitation to come and bear witness, for they are sure of their divine ordination.
A brilliant sunbeam glints through green bidding a modest summons, in hopes of waking a sleepwalking girl.
Feet pause from their habitual tread. Eyes see for just a moment. Heart remembers for just a beat.
It’s been so long.
A faint whisper brushes past forgetful ears. Pressing to still the noise and clutter and busy that wage daily war against a soul at rest, at long last a faint whisper is granted a voice: a plea to remember, to return, is finally heard:
Return to me, and I will return to you
Longing swells up from the long neglected recesses of a calloused heart.
Weary and burdened one, come, I long to give you rest
Habitual tread becomes all at once deliberate stride over to the Window Seat where He can be seen.
And here you are.
And here also am I.
I am finding you and being found here in this sacred space with each new morning, for it is here that I am named. I am known here in the Window Seat.
May I never return from whence I came.