The chair I sit in to write faces east and I can see the sky lighten every early morning through my big picture window.
I love greeting a new day, watching the world wake up, hearing the birds twitter around my home scooping up random bits of grain and cat food left behind by the outside animals.
And for a period of about two weeks, twice a year, I love something else-the rising sun is positioned in the perfect spot to cast it’s first golden glow above the trees squarely in my face as I sit here pecking away at the keyboard.
I could move out of the glaring light and continue my work.
But I don’t.
Instead I pause and turn my face toward the sun, soaking up every bit of warmth and light and feeling the energy flow from it to me for as long as it lasts.
And then it moves on.
Doing the work sun does for the whole earth-providing warmth and light for every living thing.
Grief can feel like one long dark night. It can wrap itself so tightly around a heart that no light penetrates the heavy cloak of sadness.
Then one day, one moment, one tiny heartbeat, the sun of gladness or laughter or sweet memory or act of kindness will be positioned just so and make it through.
Don’t move out of the glaring light of hope.
Turn your face and heart toward the gift and bask in its warmth. Let the energy of an extended hand, a thoughtful word, a precious bit of joy energize you.
It will move on and sadness will once again be your close companion.
But if you let it, the hope planted by the light will grow.
It will strengthen you for the journey.
It will sing courage over your heart and remind you in those darkest moments that night doesn’t last forever.
The sun will shine again.