Tonight we had a mundane sunset. Every night I glance out the window to see the palette of the evening. Sometimes it’s simply blue and grey, other times there are combinations of orange, yellow, blue, maroon, red, purple, orange and countless other colors of the rainbow. But tonight it was just hues of the blue sky, rather dull colors when contrasted with the other flaming, glorious, golden and sometimes stormy sunsets of previous evenings.
That got me thinking about what makes a gorgeous sunset. The more clouds – the positioning, depth, and different layering of clouds – the more beautiful sunset. The less clouds, the more boring.
When my dad and I used to sit out in the garage he gave me brief lessons about cloud types. The cirrus clouds deliver a thin web-like texture, the cumulus give a bit more depth and color, whereas the stratus are the most foreboding of all. Yet, when all three are combined in different parts of the sky, the results can be stunning as the sun shines through them.
Of course that got me thinking about what makes our lives beautiful. If I equate clouds with trials and hardships – all those things we try to run away from in life – then the more and various clouds equal the more beauty. Now I imagine that’s not what you wanted to hear today. Nobody I know is asking for difficulties to come so they can become more beautiful, but we all know that hard times do have a way of finding their way into our lives.
If you’re old enough to remember the Calvin and Hobbes comic strip, you’ll know that whenever Calvin’s dad gave him chores to do he would sulk. Inevitably Calvin’s dad would say something to the effect that hard things are what build character – at which Calvin would roll his eyes and under his breath say “Yeah, ok Dad.”
Of course, what Calvin’s dad said is true. Hard stuff in life does lead to the refining and building of our character. Troubles bringing us to our knees, help to ground off the rough edges of our personality, and if we allow it, trials cause us to become more patient, kind and caring.
I remember being decades younger and not having a lot of tolerance for other people’s weaknesses, grief or pain. But after I experienced the deaths of those I love, I remember feeling a broken heart – for the first time in my life. I had heard other people talk about having broken hearts, but when I experienced it myself, I grew in compassion for others’ grief.
I used to be afraid to talk to someone who had lost a loved one to suicide or suffered a betrayal of a close friend. But it was only then, when I unwillingly belonged to the same club as they, that I learned to talk about those emotions of grief, depression and anger because my only other choice was to stuff them down, allowing them to consume me from the inside out.
Recently I read a story illustrating this principle:
The Cloak
One night a heartbroken friend had a dream that she was standing in front of Jesus. He handed her a cloak. As she looked at the cloak, she realized it was alive. She could see that its threads were strands of specific events from her life, some bright and beautiful, others wormy and grotesque. She looked at the ugly strands–abuse, betrayal, divorce, illness, grief–each reminding her of seasons of excruciating pain. Just as she tried to pull out the threads, she glanced at Jesus. He took the cloak, wrapped her in it, and looked at her with an expression of deep pleasure and delight, as if the cloak were the most beautiful tapestry ever woven. At that moment she realized that if she attempted to pluck out the ugly bits, the entire garment would unravel.
We have all suffered innumerable hurts, heartaches and devastating events, for no one is immune. At times we may feel like we live in a never-ending dark tunnel. We have a choice, however – a choice to allow Jesus to fight for us against the hard stuff or succumb to their power and live in fear and despair.
It’s often tempting to curse the clouds when they cover the sun. I find myself thinking thoughts like:
This was not in my plans.
Why me?
I don’t deserve this.
I feel like God doesn’t even care, He’s just abandoned and forgotten me.
This happens to others, not to me…
Yet, one thing we know for sure is that Jesus is walking with us in the trouble, deep in the clouds, through every storm. Trust Him with your darkness.
Hope reminds us that our best days are ahead, not behind us.
Surrender tomorrow to God – He’s already been there.
Caleb Kaltenbach
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