New Every Morning

I think maybe it's because I live in Haiti, and I feel like there is no such thing as personal space.  Maybe it's because I feel swallowed up by the palms and the jungle all around, or the way the humidity and the heat seem to sew me up and close me in,  I can never really see much of the sky or the ground around me....


For whatever reason, when I return to reality every morning and my eyes shutter open to the sounds of Haiti, the first thing I must do is go to the sea.   It calls to me with each crashing wave, washing over the rocks.  It's vastness reconnects me somehow.  I'm a child of the American West. I grew up in Wyoming of all places, a landlocked land-lover of the mountains, at home in the wide open spaces.


But here on the shore, on the edge of an island of millions, I can see my God's paintbrush, and He's so good at what He does!  There's no one save a fisherman or two on a log boat between me and His new masterpiece, and He calls to me:
'Here I am.  
I am not absent.  
I am in this day. 
This day is Mine.'
Every morning I say to myself, I'm not going to take a picture.  I have a hundred sunrise pictures....
But then God goes and does His thing, and I'm utterly consumed!  He paints that light upon my face, and throws in a cloud at just the right moment to send me to gasping, and off I run for my camera.
Good Job Lord!  Wow!


He reminds me, every day, that His blessings are new every morning.  
New.
Every morning.
My God does not know stale.
He does not consider copy.
He doesn't wake up one day, tired of the painting.
He mixes the colors fresh!
He is the Maker.
The Original.
He is the Master.


'What else might this day hold?
What splendors spill from morning's gold?
What new stroke might He inspire 
to lift me up from dust and mire?


A thousand Amens I've yet to say, 
and I'll have never said enough.  
His blessings bathe me each new day 
with His unfailing love.


Show me how, my Master
wrap my hands around the brush
may I always stand in light of You
and never fail to blush.'