I awoke to an old Cat Stevens song released in 1971. I was one year old. I too was new to the world, to the light, to the beauty of first things, and the power of resurrection.

 As I grew dawn would fascinate me. I would often rise to my bedroom window and gaze to the east watching the deep darkness give way time and time again to the ancient decree:  “Let there be light!” This declaration would hold me anchored to hope, when my own darkness would refuse to yield.  How kind of God to set before us a promise and a hope before we ever took our first breath.

As the sun continues to rise, darkness will continue to yield-the pain is not forever, the whispers are not forever, death  is not forever. We don’t have to be afraid of the shades and the shadows that cling to the walls of our imaginations. There is light promised.

I wonder if that great conversation between God and Ezekiel happened while darkness still clung to the earth in the predawn primordial dark….”Can these bones live?”

Did he survey the vision and speak his response as the golden elixir of life burst upon the horizon touching the bleached bones of the plain. “You alone know…”

I feel myself standing there in that space. I feel that question asked of me in the early hours of morning.  I hear the rattling of the things that long for life to be spoken to them, waiting for me to prophecy the truth. Spirit stands with me in the darkness of my unknowing and asks. “Can you live?” I whisper back to him….”You alone know”

What are your bones? Marriage? Finance? Children? Health?

Morning has broken….speak to the bones.

Morning has broken like the first morning
Blackbird has spoken like the first bird
Praise for the singing
Praise for the morning
Praise for them springing fresh from the world

Sweet the rain’s new fall, sunlit from heaven
Like the first dewfall on the first grass
Praise for the sweetness of the wet garden
Sprung in completeness where his feet pass

Mine is the sunlight
Mine is the morning
Born of the one light Eden saw play
Praise with elation, praise ev’ry morning
God’s recreation of the new day

Morning has broken like the first morning
Blackbird has spoken like the first bird
Praise for the singing
Praise for the morning
Praise for them springing fresh from the world