Most mornings, I find my spot where the sun spills across the porch just right.
I don’t chase it anymore like I used to—I let it come to me.
When the light hits my old bones, I stretch a little, sigh a lot, and open one eye.
Light has a way of telling the truth.
It shows where I am… and sometimes where I’ve been lying too long.
Paul says it like this:
“But everything exposed by the light becomes visible—and everything that is illuminated becomes a light. This is why it is said:
Wake up, sleeper, and rise from the dead, and Christ will shine on you.
Pay careful attention, then, to how you walk—not as unwise people but as wise.”
- Ephesians 5:13–15
I’ve noticed something about light.
It doesn’t argue.
It doesn’t shame.
It just shows up.
And when it does, things are revealed—dust on the porch, mud on my paws, places where I’ve been limping and pretending I wasn’t.
We dogs don’t like the dark much.
Too many unknowns.
Too many noises we can’t place.
But sometimes people seem comfortable there—hiding habits, nursing grudges, walking familiar paths without really watching where their feet land.
Paul gives a gentle nudge and a firm bark: Wake up.
Not clean yourself up first.
Not figure it all out.
Just… wake up.
When the Master opens the door and light pours out, I don’t hesitate.
I get up and move toward Him.
I know His voice.
I trust where the light comes from.
And in that light, even my worn-out fur seems warmer, my old tail remembers how to wag.
Paul says that once we’re exposed to the light, we become light.
I don’t understand all the theology of that—but I know this:
When I lie in the sun long enough, I carry its warmth with me when I wander back into the shade.
People notice.
They might even come sit beside me for a while.
“Pay careful attention to how you walk,” Paul says.
That matters when your legs aren’t as steady as they used to be.
You watch your steps.
You stay close to the Master.
You don’t run ahead, and you don’t wander off.
Wise walking isn’t fast.
It isn’t flashy.
It’s faithful.
So today, if you feel like you’ve been sleeping in the shadows, listen for the door opening.
The light is already on.
The Master is calling.
Get up.
Step into the brightness.
Walk carefully.
Walk wisely.
I’ll be right here on the porch—soaking it in, learning again that everything looks better in His light.
Keep the Faith… Carpe Diem
