Last week, during a conversation with Fr. Michael, he asked me a simple yet profound question: “Where did you see God today?” I paused for a moment, letting the question settle in my heart. Then I answered, “In the darkness of the early morning…and in the sunrise.”
As August wound down, my husband and I continued a tradition we began when we first got married: sitting together on our front porch in our Adirondack chairs. He with his coffee, and I with my tea, both sweetened with our homegrown honey. We discuss the day ahead, offer thanks to God, and pray for our family and friends.
The air was cool, a refreshing break from the summer heat, and it was very dark outside. My husband reached to turn on the porch light, but I stopped him. “No,” I said, “I want to sit in the darkness. It reminds me of the light that appears ever so slowly…then quickly! It reminds me of Jesus.” He quietly turned the light back off. A few moments later, our son, Brogan, came outside, looking puzzled. “Why are you sitting in the dark?” he asked. Then, trying to help, he lit a candle. I gently said, “No, let’s sit in the dark.”
As parents, we have the sacred opportunity to help our children recognize God in the small, quiet moments of life. Whether it’s the hush of early morning, the beauty of a sunset, or the kindness of a stranger, these are invitations to see the divine woven into the ordinary. By modeling stillness, gratitude, and attentiveness, we teach our children that God is not only found in grand gestures or dramatic miracles but also in the gentle rhythm of daily life. Sometimes, it’s in the darkness that we truly learn to appreciate the light.
There’s something sacred about that darkness. It holds the promise of light. It’s a quiet space where the soul can listen, where the heart can anticipate the warmth of the sun and the presence of God. In that stillness, I saw God in the waiting, in the quiet, in the slow unfolding of morning light.
Each day, as we sit on the porch, I’m reminded that God is always nearby, sometimes in the brilliance of sunrise, sometimes in the hush of dawn. And always in the love shared between two people and a son, starting their day together in prayer.