When Monday Begins with Stillness:
A Sunrise Reflection from Hunting Island
At Fripp Island in May 2020, I honestly dreaded going home.
I had been enjoying one of my happiest places on the planet, where the rush of normal life seemed to loosen its grip for a little while. The ocean has a way of doing that for me. I walked along the beach as if Jesus Himself were walking beside me in the crash of the waves. The salt air, the open shoreline, and the steady rhythm of the water helped my soul breathe again.
But vacation was ending, and the routine was waiting.
Like many people during that season, Lisa and I were exhausted from the uncertainty, restrictions, and emotional weight of the COVID-19 pandemic. People processed that season in different ways, and I know some families carried deep grief, fear, and loss. For us, by May 2020, we were weary from the constant tension and ready for some space to breathe. Restaurants and stores were beginning to open again, and we decided to take a needed vacation with my family on Fripp Island, South Carolina.
At the same time, everything in my world was about to change.
Lisa was about seven months pregnant with Annabelle, who was expected to arrive in late August. I was preparing to begin a Ph.D. program in Communication at the University of Tennessee. That opportunity meant we would soon move to Knoxville, Tennessee, where I had received a full scholarship and assistantship to pay for my graduate studies, including four years of tuition and a small monthly stipend.
It was a generous offer I did not want to waste.
But it also meant three major life changes were coming at once. We were moving to a new city. I was starting a new academic job and a four-year commitment to doctoral studies. And I was becoming a father for the first time.
Those were exciting blessings, but they were also heavy responsibilities. While going to the beach provided some relief from the upcoming stress, I still regretted going home. I knew I would eventually have to face all these changes head on. I was not feeling especially motivated to make all of it happen. I wanted life to slow down long enough for the pace of my thoughts to slow down too.
So, before beginning the long drive home, I decided to wake up early and visit Hunting Island State Park, the next island down from Fripp Island. Lisa rode home with my parents that day, which gave me some needed time alone. I set my alarm for 5:15 a.m. so I could arrive in time to watch the sunrise around 6:40 a.m.
Hunting Island is known for the lighthouse that stands beautifully in the middle of the island. As far as I know, it is the only publicly climbable lighthouse in South Carolina. One of my favorite memories there is climbing those 167 steps with my Grandmother Cartee. Even in her older years, she did not give up. Step by step, she kept going until she reached the top. That memory still reminds me of her strength, determination, and quiet joy.
But on this particular morning, I was not there to climb. I was there to be still.
In Mark 6:31, Jesus tells His disciples, “Come with me by yourselves to a quiet place and get some rest.” That specific part of this Bible verse felt personal on the beach that morning because I was not only stepping away from a vacation. I was stepping away, even briefly, from the weight of everything waiting for me at home: fatherhood, a move to Knoxville, doctoral studies, financial responsibility, and a future I could not yet fully picture. Jesus understood that even faithful people need moments of quiet retreat. He knew the soul sometimes needs a place apart where the noise settles, the body breathes, and the heart remembers that God is already present before the next responsibility begins.
Stillness is not always easy for me. My mind can race ahead to the next responsibility, the next task, the next deadline, or the next concern. But as the sun began to rise over Hunting Island, everything seemed to slow down.
The sky gradually shifted from darkness to color. The breeze moved gently across the water. The waves crashed with a steady rhythm that felt older and stronger than my worries. For those few minutes, I was reminded that the world does not depend on my constant motion. God was already present before my day began. His creation was already singing before I said a word.
I am not naturally a morning person, but I was grateful I made time to breathe that day.
After the sunrise, I sat on the beach for about ninety minutes, praying, journaling, and letting my spirit settle. I did not solve every problem. I did not suddenly feel excited about returning to routine. But something inside me became quieter. The dread did not disappear all at once, but it loosened. Gratitude began to make room where anxiety had been sitting.
That is one of the gifts of breathtaking scenery. It reminds us that life is larger than our calendars. A sunrise does not erase responsibility, but it can help us carry responsibility with a renewed heart. Stillness does not remove every burden, but it reminds us that we do not carry those burdens alone.
After leaving Hunting Island, I stopped in Bluffton, South Carolina. Bluffton has its own centeredness and quiet charm, especially compared to larger coastal cities like Charleston and Savannah. I walked through local parks and along the water. I visited art galleries and appreciated the talents of local artists. I ate lunch at a quaint restaurant with affordable seafood and let the day unfold slowly.
Eventually, I headed home.
By the time I arrived, I was tired from the long drive, but I was also peaceful. I was greeted by my beautiful wife, grateful for my family, and ready to rest. Annabelle had not yet arrived, but her arrival was close. Our family was about to change forever. Knoxville was waiting. A Ph.D. program was waiting. Fatherhood was waiting. Responsibility was waiting. But so was grace.
The next morning was Monday.
Normally, Monday can feel like a return to the grind. It can feel like the end of freedom and the beginning of obligation. But that Monday felt different. I had watched the sun rise. I had prayed beside the waves. I had walked through quiet places. I had remembered that God meets us not only in church pews and sacred songs, but also on beaches, in breezes, on boardwalks, and along coastal roads when the soul needs room to breathe.
Maybe Mondays are not always as bad as we think.
Maybe they can become invitations…
An invitation to begin again…an invitation to carry gratitude into the routine…an invitation to remember that peace is not limited to vacation. God can meet us in the breathtaking scenery of a sunrise, but He can also walk with us into the emails, meetings, school responsibilities, dishes, deadlines, decisions, and ordinary tasks waiting at home.
That morning on Hunting Island reminded me that stillness prepares the soul for the next step. Sometimes, before we return to the routine, we need to pause long enough to notice the grace already around us.
And sometimes, Monday begins better when Sunday ends with gratitude.
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