To See a Sunrise...

My phone beeped at 3:20 AM on August 24^th, warning me of a low battery, and woke me from a forgotten dream.  In my early morning grogginess, I plugged my phone into its charger and stumbled outside to check the sky.  Innumerable stars winked at me from above in the black velvet sky.  I smiled.  Yes, today was the day I would catch a sunrise on top of a mountain.

I quickly gathered the necessities of hiking in the dark and stuffed them in my backpack: three flashlights, a sweatshirt, a jacket, a windbreaker, my Bible, my journal and a pen, and a water bottle.  At 3:45 I took my phone, snatched my walking staff, and headed into the darkness. 

For the next forty-five minutes I drove through the foggy town of Lyndonville, past the sleepy village of Burke, and over hills to reach the trailhead for the mountain.  I checked my phone: 4:30, about an hour and a half before sunrise.    

Somewhere in the darkness an owl hooted as if to greet me to the haunted trail.  I hesitated for a moment and thought of a few unpleasant encounters I wished to avoid: a hungry bear, an angry moose or a random cougar searching for an early morning breakfast.  Not to mention the roots and rocks at my feet in the dark or the fire tower on top of the mountain…now, why was I climbing to see a sunrise? 

Ah…a sunrise captures a special place in my heart.  It is a memorial of a new beginning, the dawn of a new day, and restores hope that darkness is not final.  Its sheer brilliance deepens beauty in my own heart and (remains one of the few things that) squeezes tears from my eyes.  Brushes of pinks, oranges, and reds proclaim God’s glory as the fireball rises over the eastern horizon.  Along with all these, I am reminded that the Earth orbits the sun at a tremendous speed—the heavens truly declared the glory of God!

So ever since I arrived in northern Vermont, I kept my eyes out for a good place to catch a sunrise.  However, this was no easy feat!  It is not called the ‘Green Mountain State’ for nothing.  Mountains surround the town I live in.  So I quickly surmised that I would have to climb one in order to see a sunrise. 

On the Sunday before, August 17^th, I thought to see a sunrise to celebrate my 32^nd spiritual birthday with the Lord (see Anniversary 2012 below).  However, a broken spring on the strut of my car and rain hindered me from catching one that particular morning.  Instead, I stayed home and wrote a poem about how the Lord is the true Sunrise. So this was not some crazy, last minute decision.  It was well thought out —it was probably just crazy hiking up a mountain to a summit over 3000 feet in the dark.

Nevertheless, I pushed any hesitation out of my mind and began my ascent in the dark.  For the first ten minutes or so, I hiked up a steep, gravel roadway, which led to a clearing.  From there, I found the trailhead and entered into the foliage of the forest.  For a moment I paused, turned off my flashlight, and listened.  Except for a quiet wind hushing the branches and a gentle creek gurgling a lullaby, silence reigned.  No crickets chirped.  No birds sang. 

Darkness. Silence.  For the next hour I trekked up the side of mountain in darkness and silence with only the shaft of light from my flashlight illuminating my way.  Somewhere on the path, I startled a gaggle of three bats resting in a pine tree.  Thrice I slipped in the mud or on roots and rocks.  Once I took a bypath, and fortunately for me, came out on the main path.  And once I took a path I thought was a path and was not.  I had to backtrack to find the way.  

After about an hour’s hike, I reached the summit of Bald Mountain, but not the height I knew I needed to see the sunrise.  On top of this mountain sits a little cabin next to a rickety looking fire tower.  I still had to climb about four to five flights of stairs to reach the absolute top. 

But heights are not my thing.  Twice before I hiked up this mountain.  I still remember the first time.  A work team had come to help out at the Fold and Mike decided to take them to hike up Bald Mountain—a never ending climb when you are hiking it for the first time.  My heart sunk when I reached the summit after a rather long, sweaty climb.  The fire tower stood before me and fear whispered in my ear.

“Are you coming up here, Jeff?”  Mike’s voice echoed from the top.

The others from the work team cheered me on so I climbed to the top.  I’m sure my knuckles were white once I reached the top.

But on this particular occasion I was alone in the dark.  There were no voices of others to beckon me upwards or to cheer me on.  My only hope was to see the sunrise.  So I climbed those rickety stairs to the top of the fire tower, constantly looking upwards—never, never down—and finally reached the top.  I crawled into the little box on top and did not even dare to lean against the frail walls.      

Then I waited, reading Psalms 45-47, and occasionally glancing out the window. Fog drifted through the valleys and consumed a small town.  A bank of clouds or so I thought stood in the eastern horizon.  Was my hike in the dark in vain? 

Waiting for the sun to rise...

But then, wonders of wonders, s sliver of fire erupted from the eastern mountains.  The sun began to rise…

The beauty of the sunrise enraptured my heart.  A tear rolled down my right cheek.  The fire tower, the heights and fears associated with it, the trek through the darkness...all of it was consumed and forgotten by the brilliance and wonder of the sun rising in its strength over the eastern horizon.

This is the lesson of the sunrise, I think, and suppose this is what it means to be ‘consumed’ with the Lord Jesus.  When he captures my complete attention, my whole heart, then all my worries, anxieties, and fears diminish in light of his beauty.  O that He may truly be my All in all!

The sun fully risen.