Sunlight glistened in drops of dew as the morning glory awakened to the dawn. Night had transitioned to day as she waited to herald her Creator. Even though the night poured ebony ink across the meadow where she rested, God’s promise of a new day stirred within her. She waited in silence, petals closed like a shield against the chill of darkness, waiting for God’s glory to paint the sky.

The morning glory was alone in the solitude of the sunrise, her vine trailing along the meadow gate’s weathered wood. And though her beauty stood in stark contrast to the splintered wood and determined weeds that pushed their way into the fertile soil beneath her roots, she waited for the Lord to rouse Himself from His holy dwelling.