Turn Toward the Sun, Turn Toward the Son

The time is now, when there’s pink in my eye, but not because of pink eye. Because of the hot pink emergency medical information card stuck to the refrigerator, my face stuck to it. I’m alone in the kitchen for a moment to confess, to repent, to gaze out the window and see the blue and the green lit up by the burning ball of yellow out of sight, but I know it’s there because I see evidence of its work. The brightness enters through my eye and grabs hold of thankfulness deep in my soul and yanks it to the surface. When I’m thankful for seeing the pink and the sky and the grass and the sun, I’m thankful for the beauty in it all, in everything, if only I’ll open my eyes to it. And living in such a vibrant place—still vibrant amidst the chaos and the evil, painted with grace—how could I not be thankful?

I turn away, from the refrigerator, and from the doing-things-my-way and the trading-time-with-God-for-trivial-and-temporal-pursuits. I turn toward the sun, toward the Son, toward the dying-to-self and the eternal.

The first step in the right direction is the most important one.

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