At peace

“There is no way in which a man can earn a star or deserve a sunset.”
― G.K. Chesterton

(the sun slips to the horizon / Henderson State Park / Julie Cook / 2015)

We deserve not, nor have we earned the gift of
the glorious,
the beautiful,
the majestic
the splendid
or
even the sublime. . .
Yet we are privy each dawn and dusk to utter wonderment.

A weary sun sinks low, resting heavy on the melting horizon. . .
As a calming hush is pulled gently across the shoulders of the sleepy landscape. . .

Do you have any regrets?

Are you sorry, feeling poorly or badly for how events may have unfolded throughout your day?

Do you stare forlornly out toward the darkening curtain that is slowly
being drawn across the closing day’s stage?

Could things have been better, different, more hopeful, more positive?

Are you now feeling burdened, defeated, regretful, resentful. . .?

Or. . .

Are you at peace. . .
resolved,
resolute
and calmly determined. . .
Finding yourself in a place of no regrets, no remorse, nor restless spirit. . .
Exhaling a blissful release of self as you feel your body giving way to the beautiful display that is offered to you in the evening’s gracious sky by the only One who is truly in control and has offered you a piece of Himself. . .

They who dwell in the ends of the earth stand in awe of Your signs; You make the dawn and the sunset shout for joy.
Psalm 65:8

Twilight

Twilight drops her curtain down, and pins it with a star.
Lucy Maud Montgomery

(a lone evening star caught in a southern sky / Julie Cook / 2014)

Stillness magically, thankfully, blessedly now covers the land.
Gone is the endless din of noise from the day’s chaos known simply as Life
With November’s chill slowly wrapping her arms around everything she sees, our pace gently slows.
Shadows have grown long as day’s light is now limited.
The time of reflection is at hand.

Timid and oh so slowly, one by one, the tiny late season jewels of the evening sky make their debut.
At first it is but a single star in the deep azure and magenta swarth of sky, which silently commands rather than begs the curious to gaze skyward.
Guiding, luring, beckoning as if by some primordial drive, we are drawn to this single brilliant light.

2000 years ago, God put His finger to the sky, and in so doing, He pierced the night with a tiny ray of light. A pinpoint of celestial brilliance shone down upon humanity’s darkness. A single directional beam called humankind to its side.

The season of expectation is at hand, as our thoughts return skyward.
We continue to cast our gaze heavenly.
We continue looking, waiting and watching.
Will Hope call for us again?
Will we recognize it for what it is?
Will we feel its pull, its draw, its offer of redemption?

Twilight, when silence descends and Hope appears
When the light of a single star dares to shine
and humankind is once again made whole