After a cold winter and a rainy spring,
I took a hike.
And as I started to walk,
I felt the sun on my skin—
Warming me,
Nourishing me,
Enlivening me.
As I walked through light and shade,
I couldn’t help but feel a little joy every time I stepped Into the sunshine.
Then I reached a large open plain,
Flat and exposed, with no trees or shade.
And as I walked,
That once-nourishing sun became an irritation.
My skin grew hot.
My body felt uncomfortable.
I was exposed.
I climbed a hill,
Still exposed to the sun,
Still feeling that weight of the heat and the warmth
That had once been a friend.
Until finally I turned a corner
And delighted in the shade again,
And felt relief from the sun,
And found a spot to sit down,
To spread out my blanket, and lie down
And enjoy the day.
And as I lay there in the shade,
I felt a breeze
Almost as delicious as that sunshine had once felt.
I found myself thanking God for the breeze and for the shade.
And praying—with no idea, really, what I was praying—
That maybe He would make me like that to someone else—
a cool, comforting, refreshing breeze.
And a voice interrupted me.
You are not the breeze.
You are not the shade.
You are the sun.
You warm.
You cheer.
You nourish.
You enliven.
You bring growth.
You cause joy.
You give light.
You also irritate.
You also burn.
You also cause discomfort.
You also expose.
Sometimes you shine far longer than people would like you to.
Not because of a fault in your nature,
But as an aspect of your nature.
If you were to stop shining for a few moments,
Things around you would die.
So keep shining light,
And keep bringing heat.
People will need shade sometimes.
People will need a breeze.
And they’ll find it.
That’s not your concern.
You are not the shade.
You are not the breeze.
You are the sun.