They call it the morning moon; that time of early morning where the sky is turning blue, but you can still see the moon. The sun hasn’t risen yet, but you know that it’s coming and it’s effects are driving away the night. It was this hour of morning that I wrote the poem Waiting for Dawn. If you take just the gerunds from the poem and list them out, they themselves tell a story:
From beginning to blossoming there is a linear process happening to us as individuals and if you take Romans 8 seriously (as you should) it’s a process that the entire creation is longing for in an ultimate sense, when this temporary phase of life will be done away with, swallowed up in eternity. I still like to read this poem when I wake before the sun and I’m able to (weather permitting) enjoy a cup of coffee on my porch as the world is waking up.