I knew I was tired after the previous day’s travels. Sweeping the sheer curtains aside, I slid open the glass door that led to our tenth floor balcony. Countless ships sat anchored off-shore waiting for their turn to enter the canal, and though they were enormous in size, each vessel looked so tiny from my little porch above. They were just shadows on the sea, breaking the trail of light that ignited the water. The sun was so incredibly bright as it rose above the ocean, the reflection on the water intensified the morning light that was shooting straight into our room.

You see, that was the weird thing. The first light of day was coming into our room.

The travel brochure was still in my hands. I had checked it just thirty seconds ago, but my scientist-father always taught me check and then check again.

Yes, our hotel was on the Pacific coast, or the Western coast of Panama.

It was strange enough that our airplane had landed on the South American continent and that our hotel was on the North American continent. We spent the week going back and forth between the two great land masses. I had never stood in such a place where two different worlds came together…nor had I witnessed the sun rising the West.

 

Every geographical fact made sense that the evening sun should be filtering through our room, not the morning beams that were coming from the horizon that split the Pacific from the sky.

Maybe I slept the whole day away? Maybe it really was evening? Surely I didn’t have jet lag from just eight hours of flights/layovers and…seriously, we only changed one time zone. If that wore me out then I’m a wimp when it comes to international travel.

During an hour-long bus ride, the guide, who stood at the front of the bus, shared that even though Panama was in the Northern Hemisphere it was the peak of summer…in January. As we drove from the airport to the hotel he continued to explain many facts about the country of Panama, including that the country is shaped like an “S”. I glanced down at the map and could see he was right. It was almost a perfect “S” shape and there on the upper curve of the country was a red X that marked where our hotel sat…on the Western most point.

I stood on the balcony in the sparkling morning light. The rays glittered through the weak waves that rushed over the shore where the high tide had been just the night before. Lunar gravity had sucked the waves out over half a mile revealing the ocean floor where shells rested and rocks littered the glimmering sand.

Who had heard of a place between two lands, where winter is summer and the sun rises in the West? My geographical bearings seemed as twisted as the country appeared, but in that confusion was when things seemed so clear.

How many times had I heard of the impossible, the things that hardly seem common sense to attempt? There are impossible things that man can do, such as build a canal to connect two oceans, but then there are the impossible things that God can do, like shift the sunrise to connect to me.

God’s in that business, you know? He parts the sea when there is no way…Better yet, He makes a Way when there is no way. When the battle isn’t finished He makes the sun stand still in the sky (Joshua 10:13) and for the lonely widow the oil continues to pour even though there isn’t anymore (2 Kings 4).

I stood gazing over the spectacular sight, thinking on just Who my God is. He is “I AM” (Ex 3). If we spend our lives seeking Him, He spends the span of our lifetime finishing that sentence.

I AM Peace.

I AM Hope.

I AM Enough.

I AM Life…even in death

That summery January morning I stood looking at the sunrise over the ocean and I could only think of Him. Maybe the sun did still rise in the East, but from where I stood in the world the East should have been behind me.