Tonight as I drove home from work the sun was setting, just at the horizon, an orange-gold globe shooting golden rays out from its center. Like a monstrance set out upon the altar of the horizon containing something sacred. And it was. The gray clouds were topped a deep violet hue in the paunchy parts, and along the bottom rim, a thread of orange held the rain-gatherers up, reflecting the light from the sinking sun, as if to hold on to the color for as long as it could.
I wanted to just stop driving and look and look and enter into the painting before me. Traffic wasn’t moving that fast anyway. I finally did pull off under the guise of getting a few groceries and took the magnificent view in as long as it lasted. Even when the sun had finally sank below the horizon, the world was still glowing, shot through with the lingering memory of the colors, still wet on the palette.
This is grace. This is grace, I thought. I knew. Sacred beauty. Another moment of grace coming at days dwindling, as a reminder. ‘I am still here’. God, by whatever name you call him or her had the paint brush out once more to remind us that the hands that designed us were still drawing us in, designing each new day, each moment, calling our attention away for that moment from the traffic jam, the bone wearying day, the empty cupboard, to remind me to look and see. To know that the world too is sacred. I can be in slow moving traffic on a jammed super highway and yet grace can reach me, reach out to me, touch me. The Creator is still creating, still designing each of us, the world, in each moment of every day, as it begins and as it ends.
This too is grace. Thank you.