Years ago I started walking early in the morning, before sun-up, roosters and bird-song.
Often with my neighbour’s dog who would sense my presence and come bounding through the grassy fields to join me.
At first it was the unbearable heat of the Texas summers that drove me from my bed before dawn;
then, as the days grew shorter it became a longing to get up and talk with God before anyone else. Now the sky was darker and I could watch the moon and stars gradually fade into the lightening sky.
The thrill of getting out of a warm bed on a cold winter morning,
-I know, I’m crazy-
bundling up and heading into the dark leaves me heady with anticipation.
I go without a torch,
“I’ve got my phone,” I say to Hubs’ sleepy wish that I take his flashlight.
“It’s dark out there…” he mumbles, as I leave the house, “and freezing…”
For the last two years I’ve become an all season dawn walker. I just love watching God as He paints the sky.
Best of all it’s the chill, before the morning has had a chance to warm up. I can breathe deeply, there’s a freshness to the air, no-one else is around, just the cows and the sheep, staring at me as I pass by – well, I imagine they are staring because it’s so early I still can’t see them – I wonder if a deer will happen by or a coyote will howl deep in the woods or a bob-cat will chance a growl from the stables?
I hear owls finishing up their night and see a flash of white as a cottontail scurries past.
I find myself following the moon through its cycles, keeping watch for its maximum illumination, tracking its waxing and waning and trying to snap a shot through the trees on my way home.
On mornings when the heavens are grey and miserable as I set out, I turn back at my half-way point and behold,
the sky is radiant,
bathed in orange and red,
sea glass blue and lilac,
turquoise and yellow;
My spirits are elevated. My wows are magnified.
I let go a heady gasp at what God has done behind my back!
With a flourish He has wrought a miracle on the grey and miserable sky and transformed it into a spectacle of light. No wonder the birds let loose their songs.
I return to Hubs with rosy cheeks and cold hands, filled with the grace and joy at beholding God’s creation and catching the hovering sun as I turn the corner home.
And as the roosters and song birds burst forth with full voice to greet another day I head home for prayers with Hubs over a cup of tea.
Each season is different.
I love each morning whether it’s balmy, cool, crisp or bone chilling with my Father; just us alone on the lane, talking and glorifying.