Watching the sunrise at Red Rocks in Colorado already feels like a liturgy written into the earth itself, but waking at 4:00 a.m. to get there adds its own kind of devotion. As I stepped out of bed in the dark, an unexpected anticipation rose in me—almost as if creation itself had extended an invitation. To sit there in the Amphitheatre as the first light spilled over the sandstone felt like participating in something God began long before I arrived, a quiet companionship with the generosity of creation.
God pours out the world in an effervescent act of self-giving—beauty, color, rhythm, breath—and then goes even further: through Christ, he draws us into friendship with himself. Christianity has always been a religion of grace, a faith that marvels at divine generosity. Think of the workers hired at different hours of the day, each receiving the same wage; think of the prodigal son welcomed home with a feast. These stories remind us that God’s giving is not measured, cautious, or earned. It is simply who God is.
But grace never ends with us. The gift that awakens wonder in our hearts is meant to awaken generosity in us. If amazing grace has reached even the parts of me that feel unworthy or worn, then I am called to become a vessel of that same grace, especially toward those who feel far from home, far from hope, or far from God.
Praying in the rising light at Red Rocks, I felt that truth settle in me: God’s generosity is always moving outward. And if I let it, so will mine.
Smitten With Goodness 