8:30 p.m. in Ferndale and the sun is far from going down. We could work outside in the twilight at 10 and we could start again at 4 in the morning. If we had the strength, we'd have the light.
But it's far from the longest day. In Alaska, I'm told, the sun never sets. People find themselves working all hours without even thinking about it because it doesn't dawn on them that they need to go to bed.
But even the unending days in Alaska are nothing compared to the longest day. To tell us about that day, we have to use measurements greater than ordinary twenty-four hour periods: One day is like a thousand years to God. And a thousand years? They're like a single day to Him, we're told.
I suppose that only makes sense since God Himself is the Light. There's no darkness in His kingdom; there's no night there. It's one eon of sunless brilliance following another, timelessness joined to the strength to live every moment of every unending day to the fullest.
I'm longing for that day.
© Copyright June 2017 by Robert G. Robbins