I thought I had missed the sunrise. At 6:40 a.m., light already hovered behind swaths of shadowy clouds. I turned my head for another look at the ocean, and suddenly I saw it—that melon patch on the horizon and, seconds later, the muted edge of brilliance emerging from far-away waves.   The first light of dawn was ascending toward full day.       Later that morning—just yesterday—I listened to a speaker quote Proverbs 4:18, “But the path of the righteous is like the light of dawn, that shines brighter and brighter until the full day.”   It reminded me that the renewal God...

Savior,   I need renewal like the sunrise, that often.   Help me see it in all areas stale or stagnate help me see it in all its forms:   like fresh snow under sunshine like the crocus through the frost like spring birds chirping at midnight.   Make these dead seeds in my heart live again, flowering into something new, petals facing the light, letting in You—   always available.   Sweep across my horizon like windswept sunbeams after clean rain.   Not retained, unconfined. Blasting from darkness. Powerful, vibrant with resurrection.   O Lord of Renewal, Amen....

Consider the lilies, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin; but I tell you, not even Solomon in all his glory clothed himself like one of these. Luke 12:27          

At sunrise on Easter morning, I sat outside with believers from churches all over Franklin, TN, celebrating the resurrection of Christ. When the service began, clouds chilled the air around me. But as a pastor reminded us that the same Spirit that raised Christ from the dead lives in us, the clouds scattered into white wisps and golden sunbeams warmed my skin.     It was a lovely and fitting picture of what God was doing in my heart. Jesus, the pastor said, has a way of getting through whatever walls seem to be blocking us from moving toward His purpose for our lives—just as He “magically”...

Middle Tennessee is flowering. I almost hated the first mow a few weeks ago, cutting down those pretty purple weeds in the cool, deep grass. But when I did, tiny yellow flowers popped up in abundance—and I don’t mean dandelions, though they have since arrived.   The pear and boxwood blooms have yielded to leafy tendrils, and the blue skies these days are edged with layers of varying greens, topped with the soft whites and grays of tranquil clouds.   And just last week, my lavender irises opened. Which means it’s Easter season.   Easter. In that one small word is my whole world,...