I was standing at the window THIS even colder morning (see yesterday's entry), watching the warm lights of Tim's car pull away into the gloom with my three kids and their kind father snug and warm inside, and I noticed that on one particular house about about two blocks away, it looked as though their windows were lit with a soft pink light that stood out in lovely contrast to the greys and indigos everywhere else. My eyes couldn't make sense of it; I wondered what sort of indoor Christmas lighting they could possible have to make their whole house light up so beautifully, so delicately. Then I realized it must be a reflection of something, and indeed it was! I turned around and saw out the back of our house that the low opposite horizon was glowing with a small but magnificent stream of molten colors. It was lovely! I, in my fluffy robe, mug in hand, sat on the couch so that the brightest point was centered on the center window, and I gazed. What started as a magma colored line quickly spread along the horizon line and spilled the most beautiful corals and fuschias and pinkish purples you could ever hope to see. I wanted to swim in it! I gazed and watched it take over the whole southeastern sky until all the pre-dawn gloomy colors and blacks were simply beautiful foils for its brilliance.
I wanted to sit there all day, but since actual sunrise was still a way off, I couldn't. But what a God-glorifying show it was. I am so grateful that He caught my attention with the soft reflection of his handiwork on a faraway window, and I was struck with how the gloomy and hard things in this world serve to point us to the light of God. It is in the dark times that the hope He offers is the most dear to our hearts and most clearly reflected.