The sky burned red and gold, clear and fuzzy all at once. Maybe it was my early morning eyes. Maybe it was Him whispering, “Good morning, beloved.”
It’s been so cold here this summer. Empty hands and quiet houses full of only the noises I make.
I’ve spent the summer missing other noises and familiar hands.
I’ve spent the summer longing for different noises and new hands.
But this morning, when the sky was on fire and it seemed like He and I were the only two awake, I felt His faithfulness wrap me up, pull me closer.
This morning when the sun shone bright, shades of spun honey and molten lava all at once, I remembered that I am the one who changes, that I am the one who is inconsistent.
He stands steadfast, ever faithful.
More faithful than the morning.