Our house faces to the Northwest. It is the perfect position, geographically speaking, because the back of the house—where we actually live most of the time—faces Southeast. That means we awaken each morning to see the rising sun through the far corner of the doors along the back wall of our bedroom.

On winter weekends, I can lie in bed and quite literally watch the sun travel across the sky, throwing spectacular light across the down comforter as it makes its way from the windows of the first door, to the second, to the third. Workdays, that same sun lets me know I have lingered too long, curled up in the flannel sheets.

Do let me say this: Our perfect house positioning happened quite by accident. But early this morning, as I stood in the back yard wondering if my neighbors notice me out there in my pajamas (I quite regularly grab my camera and run when I see an interesting sunrise forming), I marveled at how significant this previously unconsidered fact has become in my life. Through the windows and from the screen porch and perched on the edge of the driveway, I am endlessly fascinated by the movement of the sun, the brilliance of the changing sky, and effects of the light as it dances across my world.

If I ever move, do remind me to pay attention to the orientation of the house. The position of the windows in relation to the horizon and the heavens is of prime importance. God puts on quite a show there each day, and I don’t want to miss a single minute.