This morning I witnessed a natural phenomenon that would melt the most callous of hearts, and strengthen the most skeptic’s faith in the divine. I had woken to my dog whimpering, as is her habit when she wishes to relieve herself. Usually, my wife takes her out of a morning; however, we had both been up late. She had not stirred at the dog’s pleas, which must have been continuing for some time as I have some hearing loss and am not easily awoken by noise. As I fumbled to clothe myself I was even more disgusted by the time illuminating from my cell phone: 06:10, on my day off. I grumbled, but my fondness of the chihuahua overrode my disdain for the morning and we went outside.

I was pleasantly surprised to be kissed by a cool air instead of a frigid slap as is common this time of year. As custom, the dog fanned right and squatted over a particular spot; as such, I glanced right. And there it was. The moon had not quite retreated yet. It hung with a distinguished air as it was concluding its nightly circuit. It seemed rounder than I could recall, robust, and with an ethereal, umber aura which complimented its own ephemeral splendor. I was struck dumb with child-like wonder at the nocturnal master’s vestments with which God chose to clothe him this particular morning. Ah yes: morning.

I turned to the left to see the other half of the celestial couple breaching the horizon. Before she unveiled her face, the splendor preceding her dominated the landscape with mellow illumination. Here they were, the celestial sovereigns juxtaposed at the apex of dawn—screaming the oblation creation deserves.

Yet, how can I worship the dawn? She is ever changing with the day. Nor can I worship the moon who changes his shape, size, and colour with the months. The sun, however, she is constant and provides for the life and vegetation of earth. Yet she is the same, cruel maiden that scorches the earth, sapping water and life. One thing is certain: the moment left an insufferable desire of gratitude and awe toward the author of the moment.

The current theory predominant in our education is that this moment was the product of chance—the ordered seasons, the balance of the universe, the harmony of ecology, the inspiration of nature, and the timeless dance of the dusk and dawn. How could anyone in that moment posit such audacious foolishness? Praise chance?! Hardly. Instead, I turned to the principle and sacred truth man has held from time immemorial until even the present.

I looked toward heaven and praised my Maker that creation, in this very moment, was attesting to the majesty, glory, goodness, and wonder of the Sovereign that decreed this spectacle’s moment of paralyzing awe. Ineffable majesty.