I don’t think there’s anyone who has ever regretted waking up early to watch the sunrise.
I’ve spent the past week in Florida taking care of my father, and the early mornings are pretty much the only time I have to myself. The rest of the day (and night) is divided between work and doing what I can to care for a man who has spent his life caring for me.
So I go out to run early, before the sun wakes up (and while most sane people are still sleeping).
Yesterday, I finished just as the sun began cresting over the horizon, though some clouds held it back. I waited, knowing it was only a matter of time before that little round ball of warmth and light would make its appearance. And when it did, something shifted in me.
At that moment, I was one of eight billion people in the world, but as the sunlight stretched across my face, I simply felt like I mattered—like what I’m doing down here is important. I also felt something deeper, something I can only describe as love. Not from the outside, but from within. It moved me to tears (though listening to Father and Son by Cat Stevens at the same time might have had something to do with the waterworks).
Once I pulled myself together, I sat for a few more minutes, thinking about how sunrises and sunsets are perfect metaphors for life.
No one can stop the sunrise. Once it begins its slow ascent over the horizon, there’s no pausing it, no turning back. It keeps moving. It keeps showing up. It doesn’t wait for the right conditions, doesn’t ask permission. It just does what it was meant to do.
And isn’t that what we’re meant to do? Each day, we rise—sometimes with ease, sometimes with struggle—but always with purpose. We grow, we serve, we give of ourselves, and we move forward, no matter what challenges come our way. Like the sun, we don’t wait for perfect circumstances to shine. We simply do.
Of course, the sun eventually has to set. No one can stop that, either. Once its work is done, it slowly sinks westward, and the sky shifts to darkness.
In the same way, life follows its own rhythm. No matter how much we may want to slow time or press pause, the day always moves forward, and eventually, we must surrender to the setting of our own sun. But just as a sunset isn’t an ending but a transition, neither is our passing—it’s a shift, a continuation of the light we’ve left behind in the lives we’ve touched.
I’m in a season of life where this metaphor feels more real than ever. In the past two years, I’ve lost both my brother and mother—one to cancer, the other to a broken heart. And now, as I spend this time with my father, I know that another sunset is on the horizon. I don’t dwell on it, but I honor it by being present, by appreciating the light while it’s still shining.
Caring for a parent in their later years is both a responsibility and a privilege. It’s a reminder that love isn’t just about grand gestures but about the quiet, steady act of showing up. The same man who once held my hand and guided me through life now needs my hand in return. And just like the sunrise, I won’t hesitate—I’ll keep showing up, pushing through, and shining in whatever way I can. Because at the end of the day, love is about presence. And presence is the greatest gift we can give.
But presence comes with sacrifice—not just mine, but my family’s as well. Being here means being away from them, and that’s not always easy. They, too, are sacrificing—giving up time with me, adjusting their lives in ways both big and small to support me in this season. Love, after all, isn’t just about the moments we share, but also the spaces we hold for each other when duty calls us elsewhere. And for that, I am deeply grateful.
