and the sky above proclaims his handiwork.
Day to day pours out speech,
and night to night reveals knowledge.
There is no speech, nor are there words,
whose voice is not heard.
Their voice goes out through all the earth,
and their words to the end of the world.
In them he has set a tent for the sun,
which comes out like a bridegroom leaving his chamber,
and, like a strong man, runs its course with joy.
Its rising is from the end of the heavens,
and its circuit to the end of them,
and there is nothing hidden from its heat.
- Psalm 19:1-6 (ESV)
Most of the day fills with that too familiar pull of here and there, of then and now and what still will be, of already and not yet, of out with the old and in with the new, of often seen but not really known. At a certain point, and I'd be hard-pressed to explain why even to myself, I felt the hot sting of salt fill my eyes and I turned to move away. How do we move gracefully, gratefully, through the ups and downs and curves of life?
We finish the last hour of daylight completing the final errand of the day. Expectantly, I look for glimpses of glory along the way. The pastel wisps of clouds change gradually, vibrantly, into brilliant hues, the Creator's jewel-tone colors across the western canvas. The visible reminder, the "no you are not in control, and that's all ok; there is yet better," comes in the afternoon change of sky.
I too want to be like a strong man and run the course with joy.
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