swallowed up

I know very little, about photography. Okay, really I actually know nothing about photography. I have observed however that the position of the sun is essential to taking a good picture outside. Last weekend we had one absolutely lovely day. As Quinn and I soaked up the last bit of it outside on the greenway, I played with my camera phone a little and snapped a couple quick shots to remind me of the contrast. The first one:

A picture taken mere seconds later simply changing my perspective:

As we walked into the setting sun, it cast shadows over the road before us but painted the road behind us in the perfect hues of sunset. The metaphor felt so obvious it is almost embarrassing to recount.

I read this the following morning:

For we know that if the earthly tent we live in is destroyed, we have a building from God, an eternal house in heaven, not built by human hands. Meanwhile we groan, longing to be clothed instead with our heavenly dwelling, because when we are clothed, we will not be found naked. For while we are in this tent, we groan and are burdened, because we do not wish to be unclothed but to be clothed instead with our heavenly dwelling, so that what is mortal may be swallowed up by life. 2 Corinthian 5: 1-4

As I long and groan and wait, I stare into the dark shadows of the promises we have in Christ. I can make out dim shapes, but I fail to see the color. When I look back though, the brilliant hues of past grace remind me to press on with great endurance. Because one day all this mortality, this frail imitation of life, will be swallowed up by an eternal life so incomprehensible, so radiant, that looking at it form this side casts everything else into shadow.