Rear View Mirror

Depending on the time of the year, I have opportunity to witness the world being transformed into some sort of magical land for me as the sun makes its way over the eastern rim of Earth. To arrive at the place where I spend my week days I must head west. So often, as I pull out of the garage onto my driveway, the sight to the east lures me to accept its invitation to the celebration of a new day and I turn eastward. One particular morning heavy charcoal painted clouds sabotaged the celebration invitation, so my travel took me westward toward my office. Through the haze of the humid West Texas morning, I could see the western sky was preparing for war. Being a West Texas girl, this created within me joyous excitement. The promise of rain. At the same time, a certain amount of fear—STORM.

The clouds grew darker and the ebony heavens rumbled and roared in angry exclamation. Furious lightning bolts hurled their sharp daggers, piercing the battling darkness as they hissed and crackled their fury. Driving into the storm, I was captivated by the beauty and power of it.

Glancing into my side rearview mirror to make sure the way was clear to move into the other lane, I was awestruck at what I saw. Behind me dawn had drawn back the wicked curtain of the storm and revealed a carnival of celebration. The promise of a bright day. Golden pinks spilled upwards into the heavens announcing the arrival of the approaching sun. As I sat waiting for the left turn signal, I watched in the mirror as all of earth’s edge bled crimson. Darkness before me; brightness behind me.

Life sometimes looms with dark clouds before us. We approach them filled with fear and anxiety. The rumblings of doubt grow louder as the storm draws close. The roar of hopelessness swells and the darkness deepens. We hear the hiss of Satan’s darts hurled in the darkness, piercing our troubled souls. Then we catch a glimpse in our life’s rear-view mirror. We see the way the sunrise of blessings has carried us through dark clouds and vicious storms of the past; the promise that storms pass. And then we see it!!! The golden pinks of the promise that our future is bright because in the past our Lord bled crimson.

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