The Dawn

Before I traveled to Nashville in the summer of 2010, I recorded several tracks in a local studio, enlisting the help of my sister to provide background vocals. On the CD we recorded “The Dawn,” a song I had written that had been inspired by a friend’s struggles through dwindling hope and despair.

I had been eager to record the song for a long time because I felt it gave voice to the experiences of many individuals in my life, including myself. You see, if anyone could love the dawn more— those moments before sunrise— it would be me. As I have explained in earlier posts, there is something about the sunrise that I absolutely love. In large part, I think it is because even though I am visually impaired, I can still see the full expanse of the sky and the many colors that are painted there. I have the same love and appreciation for sunsets as well.

There is something about the expanding light and the newness of the day that intrigues me. I can remember early mornings when I would awaken from restless nights as a teenager. The stress of daily pressures and the never-ending homework load would leave me overwhelmed and wide awake in the early hours of the morning. I would sit near my stereo in my bedroom, plug in my headphones, and listen to music as dawn lit the sky. It was a time for me to be quiet before God and immerse myself in some of my favorite worship music before the craziness of the day would come upon me.

I was reminded of this part of my adolescence as I lay awake early one morning last week. The stresses of preparing for YLF and learning new music had left me exhausted but yet sleepless at the same time. I was frustrated that I couldn’t sleep, especially when I started to hear the birds chirp outside my window. “Oh, great,” I thought. “Its 5:00 in the morning, and I haven’t had a full hour of sleep yet.”

But even though I was frustrated and exhausted, I felt a strange comfort as the misty gray morning lit up the darkness in my bedroom. The coming day brought the promise of starting over. True, all of the stresses that I had taken into bed with me that night previous would still be there, but there was something about the fleeing night that chased away the doubt and fear. I had been fighting the fear that I would not be able to measure up as director at YLF, and as I had tried to sleep that night, the nagging doubts had kept me awake.

I thanked God in that moment of dawn for His promise of hope and provision. I knew that He was with me in those early hours and that He would be with me as I worked to direct YLF in the coming weeks. No, it wouldn’t be easy, but my Best Friend would come alongside of me and hold my hand through everything that was to come on the horizon.

Speaking of the horizon, I wish I could have seen the sunrise that morning. I knew that it was misty and rainy, but even so, I was certain that the sun’s radiance was hiding just beyond the clouds.

Unlike the person portrayed in my song “The Dawn,” I was not without hope. The song moves from wallowing in fear and despair to embracing the beauty and promise of the coming dawn. My situation was not hopeless— only frustrating, so I knew I could press forward no matter what would come. As the final lyric of the song goes: “Yesterday has come and gone; you’ll wake to see the light of dawn.”

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