Saw one today coming to work. The rich reds and purples, mixed with pastel pinks, seemed painted on the underside of white, wispy clouds, all set against a clear blue Texas Panhandle sky. Doesn’t get much prettier.
But it’s not the beauty that fans my hope. Not beauty alone.
Maybe, it’s that sunrises signal new beginnings, with new challenges, opportunities, discoveries and their respective joys. Or maybe it’s that the sunrise marks the end of night, which says that, once again, darkness has not prevailed, has not destroyed all that is good, all that is light.
I think of Francis Scott Key, who “by the dawn’s early light,” spotted those broad stripes and bright stars still flying over Baltimore’s Fort McHenry.
And, mostly, I think of the women who first saw a risen Jesus “as it began to dawn on the first day of the week.” Maybe, the sunrise makes me think of the Sonrise. And nothing brings more hope than that.