Better Things

Recently I read a Japanese proverb that says, ‘We can never see the sunrise by looking toward the west.’

As I considered the meaning of these words, I imagined myself as a young child, watching a sunset for the very first time . . .

I stand on the crest of the hill and watch the sun lower against the horizon, painting the sky in bold strokes of scarlet and gold. Over the next hour, these colors only become more glorious as the sun sinks, suspended above the rim of the earth. My chest swells with silent awe as I await the climax. Never have I seen such beauty. Each moment is more perfect than the last. I lean back and bask in the light.

And then, so slowly that I don’t realize it at first, the sun slips below the horizon, and the colors begin to fade.

I do not understand. All of my excitement and anticipation is abruptly extinguished as dusk closes in, and the first stars wink slowly in the pale evening sky. No. This cannot be what was supposed to come next. Crushing disappointment overwhelms me, and a hard, stubborn feeling of rebellion settles in my chest as I lower myself to the damp ground. I feel utterly disillusioned.

I sit here for hours, knees tucked against my chest, longing desperately for the sunset splendor of the previous day to return to the sky. I wait all night.

Ever so slowly, the sky lightens, and the world around me stirs as it comes awake. After a while, I reluctantly shift my position to face east—the opposite direction from which I expect the light to reappear. And my breath catches in my throat. A disc of golden light slowly rises above the mountain peaks in the distance. Can it possibly be? This feels so familiar. The same, yet entirely new; and if possible, even more beautiful than I remembered.

In my heart, I am this child. Clinging so tightly to some plan of mine, a dream, relationship, job—it could be anything, really. Something that was good and right—for a time. Something I was absolutely sure God meant to give me, something that would stay the same.

When this thing that is so important to me is taken away, I often become so focused on what I have lost that I forget all that He still has to give me. That ALL His plans are for my good.

A couple of years ago, my family and I went through an incredibly difficult season. A time of great emotional, relational, spiritual, and financial stress, illness, and hospital stays—and on top of all of that, my dad lost his job and was unable to work for months.

That year was really, really hard in so many ways—but God was faithful. Looking back, I am overwhelmed with gratitude as I see all the good that has come as a direct result of all that happened during that time, when at first I felt like everything had changed and so much was irretrievably lost.

He knows so much better than you or I. He gently pries my fingers open and asks me to simply trust. And wait. Even when I don’t understand, and I can’t see Him working.

Lately, as I felt my grip tighten on a few things that I began to fear losing, He gently reminded me that each time I reach an unexpected ending, it is only to make room for a new thing—something better, even when I cannot fathom how this could be possible.

Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland.

Isaiah 43:18-19 NIV

There are far better things ahead than any we leave behind. / C.S. Lewis

And I choose to believe this. This is my confident hope.