Notes from my Knapsack 3-29-18

Notes from my Knapsack 3-29-18

Jeff Gill

 

Sunrises

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About now, sunrise is at 7:15 am, thanks to the clever busy helpful adjustments of the government a few weeks ago. We are saving daylight, having trimmed an hour off the morning and pasted it onto the evening. Huzzah.

 

So I'm waiting to get sunrises back where they belong in my morning routine, or where I think they should be about this time of year.

 

I've written more over the years about moonrises than sunrises, because of the Newark Earthworks and their ancient, learned geometries from two thousand years ago, and through them I've learned how amazing it can be to watch a moonrise, which few end up doing.

 

But most of us have watched the sunrise, at some point or another. It can be a painful experience, if you've waited through a long dark night, and found yourself watching the east for light, for hope, for a beginning or an ending, but weighted with sorrow.

 

Or it can be a joyful moment, especially if you went to a special vantage point, moving up to it in the dark, in pre-dawn gloom, and were where you could enjoy to the fullest the gathering light moving up in advance of the breaking forth of the sun's rays over a distant horizon.

 

Sometimes, a sunrise is just the price you pay for a party that went on too late, a job that began too early, and you see it in your rear-view mirror or squint into it through the windshield, a feature of a time of day you'd prefer to be able to avoid.

 

I know there are many who enjoy a good western view, on the gulf coast of Florida or out in California or even islands beyond, where you can relax by watching the sun set with a cool drink near at hand, letting the red rubber ball squeeze down into the ocean far off.

 

But I find myself most put in tune with the day, with my life, getting to sit where I can see the first light of day tint the highest tree branches near me, then watch the glow work down the trunk and to the ground, finally warming my face where I sit with a good hot cup of coffee.

 

A good sunrise can put you in touch with those for whom it's a sunset far to the east, and make you mindful of those who off to your west are still waiting for the first glimmer of dawn. A morning that begins with a sunrise that can warm your heart will light up the whole day, even when the sun is eaten up by clouds overhead later on.

 

This Sunday, many of us remember a sunrise thousands of years ago, one that began in predawn mists of uncertainty and anxiety, but which by full light had turned into a day full of rejoicing and wonder. Sunrises can do that for you.

 

This spring, and it is indeed spring no matter what the forsythia are saying to us, I hope you get a chance to wake and greet a sunrise to see what it has to say to you. It might just cast a light on the day and days ahead, that makes more clear than even a good night's sleep alone can bring.

 

Happy Easter!

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and pastor in Licking County; he will be atop Horns Hill at 7 am on Easter morning. Tell him what the sunrise says to you at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on Twitter.