My favourite time of the day right now is between 5-6am. (I know I’ve instantly lost many of you… but stick with me!)

At 5:00 it’s still completely dark. So dark it could be the middle of the night. But it isn’t. It’s actually quite close to dawn. Everything outside is quiet, still. Except for birds. The air feels fresh. And then… gradually over the course of the next hour or so, the sky starts to morph from black, to navy, to deep-hued blues and purples, sometimes even shades of green, then slowly turning pinky red, orange, yellow… Eventually the sun breaks through in a big brilliant burst. Which is gorgeous, and maybe the more impressive moment. I do love that. But to me the best magic is in that hour before, when we actually move from dark to light. Lately I find myself just wanting to stand in awe, in that in-between space, to watch it roll through. It stirs something deep inside of me. Something that speaks ‘God.’ The slow tender move from dark to light, with the promise of more. It echoes something deep and true, and to me, it’s worth the early wake up. 

So I’d love to throw more words in here, to describe and analyze it, prescribe some kind of response for us all – because that’s what I do. But it’s not really what dawn and the sunrise do. They just are. So instead I just want to invite you into a bit of open-ended visual wonder with me. To sit through the move from dark to light, believing that God is closer than we know… in case it might speak anything to you too. 

So, let’s.