Maybe it's because the sun's so rare around here in the Pacific Northwest. I'm thirty four years old, but it's only recently that I'm recognizing the emotional response beautiful light evokes in my heart. I think we all have this natural response to light. When a room is dark, and a door opens, light pours in and we are drawn to it. I've found though, that sometimes, it's more beautiful when I take the time to marvel in it.
In the picture above, it was morning. The golden light of morning should have shone on the opposite side of this goblet, but for some reason it was coming from the opposite direction. Instead of trying to figure out why, it was more gratifying to notice the grain in the wood and the way it glowed.
Why is wood so beautiful and so varied, even when it is hidden within a tree, beneath bark and bugs? I think it's because our Creator knew. He knew we as humans, who were made in his image, would want in turn to take a piece of His beautiful creation and to create something new. We would peel away the dirt, cut into the wood, shaping it, polishing it. Our new object would reflect the best attributes of the tree it was made from, whether it is endurance and strength or lightness and pliability. The glow of our new object in the light of day would remind us of how glorious that tree seemed at sunrise, and we would be thankful.
This goblet reminds me to notice the light...not only the beautiful light that comes at dawn, or at the golden hour before dusk. I am reminded that there is light throughout each day, whether it is diffuse in heavy fog, refracted through endless raindrops, or dancing like sequins on a frosty gate. It's a taste of heaven, I think.
And the city has no need of sun or moon,
for the glory of God illuminates the city, and the Lamb is its light.