Sunrise?

I told Doug recently that I missed seeing the sunrise.

When we lived outside of the city limits, it was easy to observe the light ascending at the break of the day and descending again when it was time for the day to be done. The view was unobstructed and difficult to miss. It was sign and symbol, spreading delight, a daily gift from the creator of us all. It both grounded me and lifted me.

“I miss living in the country and seeing the sunrise,” I said. “I wonder how far I would need to walk up the hill to see it.”

His response? “You can see it from here.”

I argued. Of course, I did.

But, this morning, as I raised the blinds on the east-facing windows, I caught a glimpse of color behind the bare trees. So, I opened the front door, stood barefoot on the landing, and watched the rising sun transform the sky.

You can see it from here.

I don’t like change, as inevitable as it is. I think Logan inherited this from me. “Those were the good, old days, ” he says, as though he has lived forty years rather than just fourteen. He misses the days when we were not as consumed by our schedules and had more time to simply be together. I miss those days, too. Logan misses playing basketball on the driveway with his brothers. I miss the certainty that we would all be in one place, gathered around one table, when it was time for the evening meal.

I miss being able to see the sunrise clearly.

Yes, as it turns out, I can see it from this not-so-new-anymore spot. But, it’s not the same. At least, that’s what I have consistently told myself.

What if different isn’t worse?

What if change can bring joy?

These feel like radical questions, bound as I am by nostalgia and even some regret. But, maybe these are precisely the questions I need to be asking. Maybe this season of life–where clarity is lacking–is an invitation to imagine. Maybe it’s an invitation to trust.

At least some part of what the sunrise symbolizes for me is a call to creativity. And, perhaps most accurately, what I’ve been missing in my daily life these last few years is intentional time and space for creative ventures. I haven’t been able to see my creativity clearly in this place, but maybe it’s still visible.

There is so much I don’t know as I write this, standing on the first day of April in this season that celebrates transforming movement through death to abundant life. Here’s what I do know:

Time spent on social media leads me to places in my mind that I don’t want to go.
Next month, Aidan will graduate from high school.
In less than five months, our family of five will no longer all be living under the same roof.
This time is precious.
My life’s work is to notice, dwell with, and name the ordinary sacred moments that are visible everywhere.
I began this blog in 2018 and I’m not ready to be done with it yet.
I don’t know what this blog is going to look like from here on out, but I value your presence here immensely. You are companions on the journey.

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I am also on Substack (@staceynaleancarlson) as “Listening for Life with Stacey Nalean-Carlson.” I used this platform primarily for my 2022 Advent devotions, but I occasionally post some other things there as well. Here’s the most recent, from July 2023.

https://open.substack.com/

What I’m going to do with Substack remains in the category of things I don’t know, but I may know some day. So, if you’re interested in subscribing there as well, feel free to do so. Again, no pressure. (:

Essentially, I’m looking for two things from these platforms: