He knew she was restless. He knew she needed to move, to feel the wind in her hair and the sun on her cheeks, to watch the road wind before and behind her, to cast off the unnecessary and embrace the essential, to take off her muddy hiking boots and learn to fly. He knew all this and even more. He knew things she couldn’t even quantify or recognize. She saw a chrysalis; He saw a butterfly.
So He sent her chasing sunsets. He woke her up before dawn and knew she’d wrestle in the already and the not yet. He held her hand and opened her heart and eyes to His face, the only thing she’d need to see that day. And at the end of it, as she drove away from the already, aching for the not yet, He painted His “I love you” in the sunset she drove into as the sky closed its eyes and prepared for yet another day.
And each day after, He did the same thing, consistent, faithful, steady. She woke up in the already and looked for His face, and just when the ache for the not yet became nearly too much to contain, He sent her another sunset to chase as a reminder to keep going, keep waking up faithfully, keep walking in the already. Because each step through the already was one step closer to the not yet; each snapshot of a sunset was an entry into the scrapbook He was creating for her life so that each day, as she walked in whatever already she found herself, as she sought the not yet that was ahead, she’d look up into the sunset of His eyes and know that He was and is and will forever be consistent, faithful, steady. Because He already existed in the not yet. He sent her chasing sunsets, but all the while, He was the One chasing her.