This morning, I was so wishing I had my camera with me. I was driving my daughter to school and missed a glorious photo moment.
To backtrack just a bit, I woke to a misty morning, with fog obscuring even the closest neighbor’s house. Living on the edge of the Mojave Desert has shown me that one can never have too much water (at least not here!) and to be thankful for every drop we get, no matter the form in which it comes. I love fog.
My daughter had an early class so, armed with my coffee and her backpack and presentation poster, we headed out into the foggy morning for the drive to school. It’s a short little commute, only about two miles, but what a difference those two miles made this morning. Within a couple hundred feet of leaving our drive, the sun had started to brighten everything and visibility was improving. As we climbed the hill out of our residential area, headed for the foothills where the school is, the fog was burning off before our eyes, and in one moment we went from a world of gray mystery, to a cloudless blue sky and sunlight so bright I was squinting.
I dropped her off with the usual “I love you” and “Have a good day” and “Text me when you need picked up” and off she went into the semi-adult world of high school for the day. And I retraced my journey back home.
As I left the school parking lot and topped the rise, I was in a position to see the majority of our little town spread out before me. Except this morning, instead of all the sleepy little town, there was a thick blanket of fleecy, opaque white fog laid out over half of it, as if God had tucked us in the night before and had not yet told us it was time to get up. One side of town was still snug in their fog world, while further up, where I was currently sitting, was basking in brilliant sunlight.
That was the moment I longed for my camera. I knew I would not be able to capture the panoramic scene before me with the blanket stretching from the mountains to my left all the way to the horizon on my right, and row upon row of windmills in the hills beyond that. So I had to content myself to just sit and take it in for a few minutes, sipping my coffee. Soaking up the artistry of such a master Creator, I was inspired to worship. Such beauty is restorative to my soul.
Further along on my way home, I drove closer and closer toward that edge of the blanket, with the sunlight diffusing and fading until, once again, I slipped back under it and into the dramatic fantasy world created by the fog. Steam was rising off the pavement. Headlights of oncoming cars seemed to float, detached, above the ground for a second or two before the rest of the vehicle became visible. My house was still hidden and few of my neighbors were stirring.
As I write this, the sun is slowly overtaking the clouds and patches of blue sky are beginning to show through the remaining wisps. Birds are moving about and making their usual bird calls and our rooster has decided it is time to crow. It’s shaping up to be another cloudless, brilliant desert morning. And I am now ready to take on the rest of my day.
Before that, however, I needed to put my glimpse of such glory into words and share it with you, partly so you could see what I saw; but even more, so I would never forget. When I have mornings that I can’t see the beauty around me, I will need to read again about this morning and remember that even when my eyes are not open to what is around me, even when my sight is obscured by the weight of the details of my life, that beauty is always there, renewed every morning.
Such is the goodness of a God who specializes in creativity and art and is in love enough with me to paint masterpieces in the sky and leave gifts such as fog at my doorstep.