Coffee & Common Grounds

The other night I stepped outside just in time to catch one of those sunsets that stops you in your tracks. The sky was brushed with strokes of orange, pink, blue, and deep purple—colors so vivid they almost felt alive. I stood there for a long moment, simply taking it in. And as always, my heart whispered the same truth: I know Who painted this. 

 God didn’t have to give us sunsets. He didn’t have to splash the sky with beauty at the close of each day. But He does—again and again—because He delights in giving us glimpses of His glory, reminders of His presence, and invitations to pause. 

 As I watched the colors fade into evening, my thoughts drifted far from Texas to the four ladies from here who are currently in Alaska, serving at the annual women’s conference. While we enjoy warm hues and mild evenings, they are wrapped in temperatures that dip well below zero. Their daylight is brief, their dusk long, and their surroundings starkly different from ours.

And yet, God is just as present there as He is here.

I thought about the women who attend that conference—women who come carrying burdens many of us can hardly imagine. Some live in cycles of abuse, alcoholism, drugs, or generational trauma. Some carry wounds that have never been spoken aloud. And while the women gather for teaching, worship, and rest, their children are welcomed into a space filled with warmth, games, laughter, and stories about Jesus. Seeds of hope are planted in little hearts that desperately need to know they are loved. 

It struck me again that the God who created the universe did so with purpose. Even the places that rarely see a sunrise or sunset—those long stretches of dim light and deep cold—are not forgotten by Him. They, too, are part of His design. And perhaps it is in those very places that the light carried by His people shines the brightest. 

Our four ladies went with that purpose: to bring hope, to love well, to encourage, to share the love of God in a land where darkness lingers long. Their presence is a reminder that God sends His light through His people. 

As I watched the last streaks of color fade from the sky, I realized how easy it is to take a sunset for granted. To some, it’s just something that happens every day. But to others—those who rarely see one—it would be a priceless gift. And maybe that’s the point. 

Sunsets remind us to look up. To remember Who created us. To consider the labels we’ve picked up over the years—labels of failure, shame, unworthiness, or “not enough”—and to replace them with the names God calls us: chosen, beloved, redeemed, His.

Just as the sunset marks the close of one day and the promise of another, God invites us to lay down what no longer belongs to us and step into who He created us to be. 

So tonight, if you see the sky painted in color, pause for a moment. Let it remind you of the God who sees you, the God who sends light into dark places, and the God who calls you by name.