I walked up to the roof when it was still dark. The coolness of the night still lingered. The heavy heat didn’t weigh down on the air yet.
I leaned against the rail. My eyes fell across the view. Dirt roads full of potholes and loose gravel that create chaos on a tuk tuk. Lush green trees that lined the horizon. And grey clouds that spread through the sky.
I prayed for the clouds to lift so I could see the sun rise. Because it was on this day that the Son rose from the dead. It was Easter, also known as Resurrection Day.
Kelsey came up the steps, carrying her bible and journal. Ashlyn appeared soon after. I was happy for their company.
We grabbed some chairs, set them facing east, sat down, and waited.
While waiting we read the story of Jesus’ resurrection in John 20 aloud, noted some thoughts the Lord was working through with each of us, and prayed for each other.
The clouds never parted. We never saw the sun rise.
But of course the sun had risen, it just escaped our view.
Sometimes the clouds don’t lift and it remains dark and grey. We don’t see what’s happening pass the clouds, but we can trust that a new day has begun. That the sun is constant and faithful to rise. Even when our eyes cannot reconcile the truth. It was a reminder I needed while moving from a space of discontent to contentment.
I could have been disappointed I couldn’t see the sun rise the way I had done so many times back home on Easter. But I’m glad that in the waiting I sat between two of my favorite people and had our little community sunrise service. Sometimes that’s all you need when the clouds are grey, people who reflect the sun’s light through their lives, people who reflect the Son in your life.
