Ephesians 5:8-14
The first rosy fingers of dawn brushed the panes of the waiting room windows. I glanced at the round clock on the wall: 5 a.m. We had made it through another dark night. I nudged my daughter, Bonnie, who had fallen asleep against my shoulder as we waited out the darkness.
“Morning,” I whispered with forced cheer.
She sat up, rubbed her eyes, and muttered, “Coffee.”
While she crossed the room, I wrapped my arms around myself against the chill. There had been no word from the surgical suite since 2 a.m., when my husband’s latest operation became complicated. All we could do was wait and pray. Bonnie returned with coffee for herself and tea for me, and we settled back into our molded plastic chairs.
“So much for a simple procedure,” she sighed.
I managed a laugh. “Nothing with your father is ever simple. But we’re together, and it’s dawn, and God is still in control.”
She nodded, and for a moment the quiet felt almost holy.
Then an older woman appeared in the doorway—worn, weary, clutching her handbag like a lifeline. She chose a chair on the far side of the room. Bonnie and I exchanged a glance. Here was someone who needed a little light. Bonnie stood, crossed the room, and asked gently, “Can I get you some coffee or tea?”
A long pause. Then a nod. “Tea.”
In that small moment, God sent someone else who needed comfort our way.
Paul writes to the Ephesians, “For you were once darkness, but now you are light in the Lord. Live as children of light.” He doesn’t say we were in darkness—he says we were darkness. And now, through Christ, we are light. Our identity changes before our behavior ever does.
Paul describes the fruit of this new identity: goodness, righteousness, truth. Light reveals what is hidden, not to shame but to heal. Light awakens what has been asleep. And then Paul quotes an ancient hymn:
“Wake up, sleeper,
rise from the dead,
and Christ will shine on you.”
This is dawn language—resurrection language—written for people who know what it is to sit through long nights.
Waiting rooms come in many forms. Some are lined with plastic chairs and humming vending machines. Others are tucked inside our hearts—places where we wait for answers, for healing, for hope.
And yet, even there, the light comes.
Sometimes it comes as a daughter offering tea.
Sometimes it comes as a stranger who needs kindness more than we need certainty.
Sometimes it comes as the quiet assurance that God has not left the room.
Living as children of light doesn’t mean being cheerful or strong. It means letting Christ’s light shine through us—especially in our most fragile places. Light doesn’t have to be loud to be real. Sometimes it looks like a simple question: “Can I get you some tea?”
This week, ask God to help you notice the people sitting in the “waiting rooms” around you.
- Who needs a small kindness that could open a window to God’s comfort?
- Where might your presence be the gentle dawn someone else has been praying for?
- What part of your own heart needs to hear again: Wake up… Christ will shine on you?
You don’t have to create the light.
You simply carry the One who is Light.
And wherever He is, dawn is already breaking.
Prayer:
Lord Jesus, Light of the World, shine into the places where we are tired, afraid, or waiting. Wake us up to Your presence. Help us offer Your gentleness to those around us. Make us children of the light—reflecting Your goodness, righteousness, and truth in every waiting room of life. Amen.
