The sunset over the Hudson River is gorgeous tonight. I take a picture on my phone, then listen to the ache in my heart. We’ll be moving to a new apartment in a week, within walking distance but to a building where I won’t have this view.
I decide that it’s better to gaze upon the Palisades than to take pictures. It’s better to ponder the beauty in my heart, to record it there. It’s better to feel the pang of loss while it’s tempered by the amazing scene God has painted in the sky, a display of beauty which reminds me to be thankful.
It strikes me that I don’t grieve when the sun actually sets each night; I know the half-hour blaze of color is transitory, and simply appreciate it while it’s there. Why, then, do I fall into the trap of assuming other obviously transitory things are (or ought to be) permanent?
It strikes me that I don’t expect a spectacular sunset every evening; I know that sometimes it happens, and other times it doesn’t.
Why, then, do I fall into the trap of assuming I should have a regular supply of other comforts or blessings?
It strikes me that I have lived in my apartment for over 18 years, and surely a great many sunsets have gone unnoticed and unremarked, leaving not the slightest mark of appreciation in my soul. So as the last glow of the sun slips a little too quickly below the horizon, I send up a small prayer. Thank you, Lord, for transitory things. Especially the ones I haven’t even noticed.
