“Maui, (his name for me), can we watch the sunrise?” were my 3-year-old grandson’s first words to me upon awaking the other morning. “I’d love to watch the sunrise with you,” I replied. And so, we did. Bundled in his cozy blanket, he sat on my lap in the comfy chair where we could look out over the hills and lake to the slight glow in the early morning sky. It was still quite dark when we began our morning watch, and a sliver of a crescent moon shone brightly, cradling Venus close above it. And there we sat for a long time, transfixed, transported, contemplating the nature of the stars and the moon and the clouds as they turned an ever-deeper shade of pink. It was one of those moments I will always cherish – sharing wonder with a child, this child.
More than wonder, it was a time of contemplation, of settling into a deep calm, of prayer. It was a teaching moment – not of him by me, but of me by him – the lesson of beginning each day in quiet appreciation, in immersion in the present moment. Too often I begin my day with a screen – checking my email, the weather, the latest Facebook post. Far better to begin each day with the Haudenosaunee “Words That Come Before All Else”[i] – whether in actual words or in this act of deep contemplation of the beauty of earth, the sky, the moon, the stars, the closeness of kin.
The first rays over Cader Idris, Wales
As a child, I would watch the sunrise from my bedroom window every morning, a practice I continued after I left home for college when I would rise long before all the others on my hall to go to the dorm stairwell where I could watch the sun rising over the football field and the hills beyond. My early morning ritual has persisted in the many places I’ve lived and visited -- whether climbing far into the hills before dawn to catch a glimpse of the first rays, or traveling to a nearby shore with the waters stretching out before me reflecting the first soft beams, or heading out far enough in my kayak to where I could see the early glimmers of the sun unblocked by hills and trees, or catching a peek out of a corner of a window in an urban landscape. To this day, it is my favorite time of day, and while I am fortunate now to have a beautiful view of the sunrise out my living room window, I am also so grateful to live on the far western shore of this great saltless sea where I can be out in it, go to the waters’ edge, whether of rock or sand, and bask in the early morning hues and the rising of the sun. It is always the best way to begin the day. I am grateful to my grandson for the reminder.
Sunrise over Superior
The sunrise on the morning Marty came into this world.
Marty came into this world just as the sun was rising. Perhaps that is the reason he is so drawn to the dawning of the day. Whatever the reason, I love that he loves the sunrise.
With the approach of the holiday season, I’ve been generating a list in my mind of the presents I might give him for Christmas. Yet, perhaps the greatest gift I could give him is this – the gift of time, of quiet contemplation, of being encircled in love, of appreciation of beauty, wonder, and hope of a new day.
As I write this, words of a song come to mind:
“I will love you more than me
And more than yesterday . . .
You are the new day.”
“Send the sun in time for dawn
Let the birds all hail the morning
Love of life will urge me say
You are the new day . . .”[ii]
As despair for the world too often creeps into the cracks in the day, this gentle reminder, “Can we watch the sunrise?”, brings light and love. As the song continues,
“Love of life means hope for me
Borne on a new day
You are the new day.”
Thank you for your love of life, dear one, and for being with me a lover of the sunrise.
