From the top step

I pulled open the heavy door and hurried out. My bus was on its way and I didn't want to miss it. My mind was preoccupied with all of the to-do lists and tasks for when I get to school.

I was about to race down the stairs, two at a time, but at the top of the steps, my breath caught in my throat. The sunrise over the city was blue and purple and orange and red. Below, the familiar sights of Castle Hill and the Catholic church stood, silhouetted against it. But after going down just two stairs, the entire sunrise was hidden, and all I saw were bluish gray clouds that hovered low over the city, and dark green shadows of trees that crowded out the view.

As the gate creaked shut behind me, I contemplated this. I thought about the fact that sometimes I get a grand glimpse into what God is doing. And other times it seems like I'm staring up at a cloudy, dreary sky wondering if God is even working at all.

I smiled to myself, that God had revealed his beautiful sunrise to me, from the top step, and it made the gray more manageable. I knew the sun was coming, it was just hidden.

On my way to the bus stop, I paused outside of a small gate. Since childhood, this gated house has been one of my favorites. It's wedged between what used to be a small store, and another row of larger houses. When I was little, I would stop because a big husky used to live there, and I loved to see if it was out. Though I no longer stop to visit the dog, I do still pause and peep through the white iron gate. It's hardly wide enough for two people to stand shoulder to shoulder, but it has one of the best views of the city.

The stairs lead downward, but seem to drop off into the sky. The trees, though fully grown, do not crowd out the sky or skyline.

This morning, this little gate did not disappoint. The white iron bars seemed to frame the blues and yellows and purples, and for the second time that morning, my breath caught in my throat.

It's these little moments when it seems as though God teaches me more about Himself. That sometimes in the most unassuming places, I catch a deeper, more beautiful picture of His plan. While I could stand and gaze for the entirety of the sunrise, He reminds me I have work to do, here and now.

With a sigh I move on, and stand gazing down the gray street, waiting for the bus. The light from the sunrise and the glory from that moment seem enveloped in the mundane. Yet there is purpose here. I know that God is working behind the scenes.

As I sat on the bus, gazing out the window (but mostly at my reflection since it was still dark), my eyes searched for that glorious sunrise. And just when I thought I might miss the entire show, the bus turned a corner and the entire city lit up as golden sunlight streamed between the buildings.

I delight to serve a God who reveals bits and pieces of His glory, of His plan, and then gives me ordinary places to make His glory known.

It's these little morning moments with my Creator I wouldn't trade for anything.