Saturday morning I was driving to Indianapolis from Boilerland in a winter wonderland.  It was 4 degrees.  Yes.  Four.

Freezing fog was present though not so horribly that you couldn’t see in front of you or to cause dangerous driving conditions.

The trees looked as if Jack Frost himself had personally painted each one.  The winding, stark branches that I usually consider to be so desolate and bare were ice-laden and glistening.  They were magnificent.

Have I ever mentioned the fact that I am so very much not a morning person in the least?  During this drive, I realized that this clock of mine, the one that keeps me from rising early enough to ever see a sunrise, has deprived me of some beautiful wonder.

The amber sun of that morning, as it slowly ascended into the sky, was breathtaking. Combined with Jack’s trees and the snow-covered ground, I felt like I was driving right through a calendar photo for the month of January.

I began to think about what I tell my children is “the work of God’s paintbrush” and oh, it so very much is. Beauty truly does abound.  Everywhere.

As I am admiring the scene, the rising sun is covered by what I thought was a drifting cloud in the sky.

Then I realized that it wasn’t a cloud that was overtaking the sun and all of its glorious beauty.  It was a gigantic cloud of steam from a large,  local super-production company.

How often do we overshadow God’s glorious love and beauty by something that is man-made?  I wonder this because I know I am guilty though I wish it weren’t so.

God’s light is constantly being eclipsed by things that we create ourselves – busyness, jealousy, selfishness, judgement. Sometimes I wonder how He can possibly compete though I know He is all-powerful and all-knowing.  Yes, I realize He is mightier than anything, but still.

He gets edged out a lot.

As I am thinking this, I see a very, almost minute, glimmer of light escaping from the steam cloud and I have to chuckle.  He is such funny guy.

Even in darkness, in complete eclipse, He still shines through.  Yes.  I know this.  How could have I ever forgotten?

That evening, I was reading a chapter in Susannah’s new “American Girl” book about Kentucky Cave Shrimp.  Apparently, they are shrimp that live in caves and have never seen the light of day.  Not once.  Therefore, they are stark white and blind – they don’t need to see and there is no source of light to give them pigment.

Irony?  I think not.

Those that live in the darkness, which is all of us at times, can shrivel up without light.  We can become pale.  We definitely lose our sight.  Our vision is gone.  We adapt to the darkness.  We just survive.

But its in the light that we are free.  It’s where we are loved so much despite the unthinkable things we think could never be forgiven.  It’s where we can release the shame and just be.

What a great place. To. Be.

The above painting is a watercolor by artist Lynn Quinn.  Thank you for allowing me to use it, Lynn.  It’s so very beautiful.

Click here to see more of her work!

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