It had been a pleasant day yesterday, bright and sunny in the morning and slightly warm all day for November, but with a slowly approaching cloud cover throughout later afternoon. Having finished a small shopping list at the southside Walmart, I needed to pick up a couple of things from Menards. As I left my truck in the parking lot just before five, I saw a break in the western sky. I could tell it was going to be a really awesome sky in a little while, a burst of light already starting to break through the gray.

When I came out a half hour later, I could see that I had missed it. More than a bit disappointed, I started up the truck and drove toward the exit gate. As I pulled out of the yard, past the long, high shed on the western edge, I looked farther toward the south and caught a bright orange glow from low in the sky. “Aw, man! I hope I can get out past this near ridge so I can get a better view of this.”

I’ll admit, I was tempted to drive as fast as my twenty-seven-year-old Ford Ranger would go. Wasn’t sure my explanation of racing to see the sunset would be completely persuading to a Missouri State Patrol officer, though. So, I compromised. Kept a few mph in reserve.

Turns out it was worth the risk.

By the time I started down the ramp onto I-229N, I saw a spectacle of orange light erupting from the horizon and spreading across most of the sky. Even the clouds directly behind me toward the east had a light brushing of orange color. The cluster of hardwood trees lining the banks and the woods beyond stood like hand-looped lace, black against the sky. I stopped and spent several minutes taking pictures, knowing these moments end far too quickly.

Instead, as I then drove on, the spectacle intensified. What had been a general glow began to separate into patterns of brilliant color. When I turned onto Lake Avenue, I lost much of the view, but only for two minutes. Turning north onto US-59, I thrilled at the sight of an amazing line of intense whites and oranges framing the industrial sector skyline. I turned into a gas station, started fueling up the tank, left the pump running and stood mesmerized, studying the scene. Taking some more pictures.

Tank filled, I headed on north a short way to US-36 and waited at the light. Afraid the whole sunset thing would be done by the time I crossed the Missouri River, I was glad to see the signal light turn quickly. With the big cottonwoods and other trees lining the Kansas banks blocking the lower sky, most of the clouds I could see to my left were already darkened. With diminished hopes, I turned west, toward home. As I crested the bridge, I could once again see the light burning beyond the ridge at Wathena.

I stopped again just west of Elwood and took some more pictures. As I piloted my pickup on to Blair, there was still a bit of color burnishing the bottom edges of the clouds. It faded into gray. I carried the groceries into the kitchen and found Randa sitting at the counter. “Did you see that sunset?!” She did.

Several minutes later when I walked out toward the garage, new hints of orange in the southwestern sky astonished me. It had been just over an hour since this spectacle had begun. The most intense parts of most sunsets I’ve seen lasted only fifteen to twenty minutes. Isn’t it amazing when something that wonderful lasts way longer than we could ever expect?

Imagine the wonder that will fill our souls when we behold the new heavens and the new earth!