Every Sunrise, a Reminder

Every morning when the sun comes up, I give thanks. I face east and watch it rise, slow and certain, over Birmingham. There’s something about that first light breaking the dark that won’t let me rush past it. I think about how much Jesus did for all of us as the Prince of Peace, and I let that sink in before the day gets loud.

It’s become a kind of anchor. Before the phone, before the to-do list, before anyone needs anything from me, there’s this one quiet minute facing the horizon. The sun doesn’t ask permission to rise. It just does, every single day, whether I’m ready for it or not. That’s grace in its plainest form — mercies new every morning, whether I’ve earned them or not.

I think that’s part of why this practice matters to me. It’s not complicated. It’s not a program or a system. It’s just standing still long enough to notice that the world keeps getting reborn in light, and that peace was handed to us on purpose, not by accident. “For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given… and his name shall be called Wonderful, Counsellor, The mighty God, The everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace.” Isaiah 9:6.

Peace isn’t the absence of trouble. I know that better than most. It’s a presence you can turn and face, the same way I turn and face the east every morning. Some days that’s easy. Some days I have to choose it on purpose, the way you choose to get up and watch instead of staying in bed.

If you haven’t tried it, I’d invite you to. Step outside tomorrow morning, find the east, and watch. Give thanks for one thing. Remember the Prince of Peace showed up for you specifically. It costs nothing and it changes the whole shape of the day.

Good news doesn’t always arrive loud. Sometimes it just rises, quietly, right on schedule.