On the early Easter morning driving down that speedy section of Jamboree between Edinger and Barranca, I had a few moments to gaze eastward and a miracle was ablaze before me; the sun sat low behind Saddle Back Mountain, emitting a golden ember that set the hills on fire, and calmed my heart for the Sunday that lay before me. To the west a full moon, hazy and white, lingered in the air like a ghostly balloon. The dark morning blue and grey coolness rushed through my spirit.

At the end of the day, I sat lazily with my mother on her patio sipping refreshing ice tea overlooking Orange County and a hazy outline of Catalina floated on a layer of what seemed like air. A warm breeze from the west caught our breaths and made us sigh. Sounds of my guitar and our voices harmonized with the humming city sounds below the hill. The sun had set, but its glow still lingered. The moment was priceless, the feeling, serene.

Nothing captivates our attention more than the sunset, a death of a loved one, the birth of a child or the birth of a new day. But we fail to see the beauty of the threshold. Though my Easter Sunday was extenuated by amazing weather, if I only focused on that, I would have missed the many little children who accepted Christ. I could have failed to see the hundreds of adults who recommitted their lives and accepted their lives to Christ. And I would have completely overlooked the miracle of my family, torn my pain and sadness, reconciling to the simple strums of my guitar at my mother’s home.

May we be blinded by the brilliance of God’s daily radiance. However much our personal sunrises and sunsets grab our attention, we won’t be blinded by them. There’s more light in the threshold.