Looking for Light

sunrise and shadows in the first rays of dawn

Summer Morning Symphony

The feathered musicians
tune their instruments
in the blue haze of dawn.
Arpeggios and scales 
blend together
amid the unparalleled 
acoustics of heaven.

The conductor rises
robed in radiant gold.
She glides with elegance
toward center stage
and readies the orchestra
with the soft glow 
of her lifted baton.

The flowers bejeweled
with diamonds of dew
and dressed in their best-
coats of crimson, lavender, 
and earthy ochre-
open their fragrant hearts
and listen.

Dancing with Dawn

I wake to the soft blue light
slipping through my blinds
I roll over and resist,
but dawn insists,
Let’s dance. 

A Liturgy for Letting in the Morning Light

As the earth gracefully twirls
guiding me once more
from dark to light
from cold to warmth
from slumber to living

and the sun once again graces
this little humble corner of the world
of dirt and flowers
of diapers and laundry
of dishes and errands

and the birds flit to and fro 
singing to greet the day
unhindered by the trials of yesterday
unfazed by the questions of tomorrow
undaunted by the tasks of today

I pause 

pull back the curtains
open the blinds
adjust my eyes and my heart 

to let the light in

This act, small and simple,
reclaims what yesterday’s pains
sought to take from me-
goodness and hope
patience and energy
laughter and courage

I remember the God Who Sees
the merciful presence of His Light
warming my heart
forgiving my wayward ways
calling me tenderly by name

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It might not have a been a “dark and stormy night” like Madeleine L’Engle’s opening sentence from A Wrinkle in Time, but it was a dark and cold night in February of 2022 when I finished L’Engle’s biography written by Sarah Arthur who closes the book with these lines:

“We won’t magically become more spiritually disciplined in old age if we’re not practicing now. So it starts tonight. It starts with the closing of the shutters against the darkness. It starts with our determination to go to bed quietly and fearlessly, talking to God about our day. Then, when dawn comes, we can arise like Madeleine, open the shutters, and let in the light so lovely, whether we feel like it or not.”
-A Light So Lovely: The Spiritual Legacy of Madeleine L’Engle by Sarah Arthur, pg 193

The next morning, I pulled the cords to our living room blinds and wrote a “Liturgy for Letting in the Morning Light.” Then, armed with my camera, I hunted for that brilliant light breaking in and spilling across bed and floors and chairs. Little did I know that this poem would be the first one I ever submitted for publication and that in May of 2023 I would read it’s words printed alongside a photo of our living room with that slanted morning light.

I’ve heard it said that “creativity is an exercise in looking for the light.”¹ No matter the medium- words, paint, photography, pottery- artists are looking for an element of light, the right contours and contrasts that illuminate truth, beauty, and hope. We are not creating light, we are pointing our fingers, paintbrushes, and camera lenses toward it and humbly offering our art to others: look at this light with me!

The first two poems began in bed this summer on a June morning around 5:45am. For multiple days in a row, I lay there bemoaning the long days of summer and the early sunrise that made it difficult to go back to sleep. I’ll admit, mornings are not so dreamy in every season of life. Sometimes mornings are too early, too chaotic, too full of whiny kids and clouds covering the light. But one morning, right before the summer solstice, I listened close and noticed the first bird song of morning following by a whole host of other chirps and calls. I imagined them like musicians tuning their instruments and suddenly waking at 5:45am didn’t seem like drudgery, but delight as I played with words for a poem.

There are few things that awake my soul quite like a sunrise. The way the hush of night gives way to the hum of morning- birds, coffee makers, cars, the pitter patter of children’s feet- all attuned to the first rays of dawn. The way a quiet midnight blue gives way to a playful palette of colors that cast a gentle glow over our yard. Creativity energy spills forth during that first hour of the morning unlike any other hour of the day. There is something particularly beautiful and inviting about daybreak: the sun has risen another day and I get to be here for it.

But tucked away in the shadows of sunrise is the reality that daybreak can also awaken heartache. Just one glance at the headlines full of catastrophic flooding, fire, and war reminds us we aren’t promised another day. This heaviness is not just in news, but in our own lives too.

I wrote the “Liturgy for Letting in the Morning Light” three weeks after a miscarriage. There were mornings when I didn’t feel like opening the blinds and letting in the morning light. But it is precisely these little, seemingly insignificant acts like opening the blinds, snapping a picture of my daughter’s bed, listening to the birds, or jotting down a few words in my journal that push back that darkness and dissipate the fog.

Each morning God lifts the sun and brings a measure of mercy into our broken, cursed world world before our feet hit the floor. Light isn’t just a thread woven into our days, it’s more like the loom holding it all together, the frame supporting each moment. Every thread of darkness and pain woven into our story is held by light, held by God himself, the very one who let in the first ray of light at the dawn of creation, opening the blinds of the cosmos with his very words.

With every sunrise, we can point once more at the good and beautiful in the world, lifting our finger however passionately or feebly and say, “There. And there. Look, there’s the light. Do you see it?”

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This post is part of a blog hop with Exhale—an online community of women pursuing creativity alongside motherhood, led by the writing team behind Coffee + Crumbs. Click here to view the next post in the series "Glow."

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1. I heard this quote in the first Coffee + Crumbs podcast (Season 8, Episode 8) that I ever listened to which happened to be the book release day of Create Anyway by Ashlee Gadd. It’s stuck with me ever since.