This morning the cat woke me up, purring like a steam engine in my ear.
I prefer that to Vern's version: she clawed enthusiastically at his head as though he thinks it's all in good fun. ;o)
So after I padded downstairs--twice--to usher her out into the cold morning so she could play with her well-furred sisters and brother, we found ourselves wide awake, and looking out the eastern windows into a barely lightening sky, and talking.
What we talked about isn't part of this blog post . . . it's watching the dawn that replays in my mind. As we talked, I watched the sky lighten, going from pale gray-blue to clearer, brilliant early-morning gold as the sun approached. The trees are tall out that way, and so we have no clear horizon over which the sun's light appears as though someone flipped a switch; but a gradual and slow progression from night to shadowed morning. I remembered getting ready for school in my childhood bedroom, and morning after morning watching and waiting for the sun to spill its molten gold on my wall in that magical moment of aurora, bathing the whole world in light.
So much of my spiritual life was spent in the pre-dawn dimness, lacking much of the depth of color and contrast, the glory and warmth of direct sunlight. Dimness is the expected lot of many, and very few ever expect an experience in the glory and brilliance, warmth and clarity, of direct sunlight. That's one of the reasons we had leaders above us called to live in that direct sunlight, reflecting it for those of us who never had (and probably never would) stand in the light of day during our mortal probation.
The tragedy is, there walk untold hosts in that predawn, living in varying depth of shadow, seeing only reflected light, all too often distorted by well-intentioned but flawed mirrors. Mirrors that admit no flaws, and discourage the rest of us from seeking and receiving light for ourselves. Mirrors that, in normalizing the lack of personal knowledge of God, deny the hosts life-giving sun. Instead of showing what is possible to receive, they proclaim the desirability of the usual in its place.
Mirrors are necessary . . . but their necessity lies in giving the people vision, so they may not perish. They must stand and beckon us to come see, inspire us to come taste, to live our lives as equals in the light, where all see clearly and come to understanding together.
Father, Jesus Himself lived the life of a mirror, showing You to us in all He did. I pray all leaders, everywhere whose followers believe they lead to You, will seek always to do Your will, and reflect Your heart, Your desires, speak Your words, do Your works, and nothing for their own glory. In Jesus' beloved name, Amen.
