To me, there’s something mysterious about the period of day we know as twilight. It doesn’t matter whether it’s the morning twilight or the evening twilight, because both represent hope to me. Something about having the sun below the horizon yet still radiating its light across the sky gives me assurance that there is still hope. It could be an analogy for how though I cannot see the sun, I can see evidences of its existence—kind of like Jesus’ illustration to Nicodemus about the Holy Spirit.
The evening twilight represents hope to me for the promise of nightfall and rest. The morning twilight represents hope to me for the promise of a new day and opportunity to actively pursue my passions. I don’t think I’d ever want to be stuck in twilight forever though. Stuck in the tension of a hope to come, yet not ready to be fulfilled. It would make my heart sick yearning for the coming of that hope. Yes, perhaps that’s why I’m enamored with the twilight right now. That’s my season of life: the tension of hope in a coming Savior, seeing His power at work in the world, yet not currently able to see His face.
Twilight is about trust: trust in the evening that morning will come, trust in the morning that rest will follow. In those precious few minutes of twilight, I learn again to hope. I learn again to trust that all my doing and all my resting has found fulfillment in Jesus. I learn to stay my mind on Christ and to expressly release control to Him over all of the situations and relationships that I cannot make right and look to Him for the restoration of all things. I learn to aspire to wonder at the marvelous power of God and expectantly wait for Him to show forth His goodness, His glory. In the twilight, my heart cries out to Jesus.
