a surrendered life

A few weeks ago, I did something brave.

I went rafting through the Grand Canyon by myself.

No, I wasn’t alone. I traveled with a tour group, and experienced guides led us down the river. But I went on the trip alone. I had never done anything like that before.

I am so glad I did.

That week held more adventures than I could count, but tonight, one quiet moment rises above all the others.

It happened near the end of the trip. Was it the fourth night? The fifth? I don’t remember. By then, I had lost track of the days.

But this I remember clearly:

I woke sometime in the night.

I don’t know what time it was. One of the best things about my week in the Grand Canyon was leaving time behind. There were no clocks to watch, no appointments to keep, or schedules for me to manage. I lived by the sun, the river, and the rhythms established by our guides.

I lay still on my cot beneath a black sky scattered with more stars than I could count.

I looked.

I listened.

A nearby rapid churned steadily through the darkness. Its constant rushing swallowed every smaller sound from camp. The others in my group slept peacefully, scattered across the sand within a hundred yards of me, but I couldn’t hear them.

I could hear only the river and my own breathing.

Then a sliver of light appeared above the canyon wall.

I watched as the crescent moon slowly emerged from behind the dark rim of the Canyon and climbed into the sky.

I didn’t reach for my camera.

I didn’t speak.

I simply lay there in awe, silently worshipping the One who made it.

“He made the moon,” Psalm 104 tells us.

That moon knew exactly when to rise because its Creator had appointed its course.

And somehow, I was awake to see it.

Some might call it coincidence—the accidental intersection of a waking woman and a rising moon.

But I knew better.

The God who made that moon had determined its path. The God who “determined their appointed times and the boundaries of where they live” had also ordered my steps.

I had not arrived in that Canyon outside His providence. I was there by His will.

And in the middle of the night, He awakened me.

The moonrise was not a performance God needed me to witness. It would have happened whether I watched it or not. But He allowed me to see it.

For those few quiet minutes, while everyone around me slept and the river drowned out every distraction, God drew my attention to the beauty of His handiwork.

It felt extravagant.

Personal.

Holy.

“Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights.”

James 1:17

That moonrise was a gift.

Not because I deserved a private moment of beauty. Not because God owed me reassurance or wonder or joy.

It was a gift because giving good things is part of His nature.

He is generous.

He delights in revealing Himself through what He has made. And sometimes, He awakens one of His children in the middle of the night and whispers,

Look.

So I looked.

I listened to the river. I watched the moon rise. I breathed the warm canyon air.

And without moving from my cot or speaking a word, I worshipped.

Thank you for joining me.

If this resonated with you, my novel When It Reines by Victoria Stewart carries this same thread of faith, redemption, and the quiet ways God is at work in our lives.

It’s wrapped in a story that will keep you turning pages.

👉 Read it on Amazon here: https://a.co/d/0fcekjqW
Available on Kindle Unlimited.

You can also visit victoriastewartbooks.com for more works written by Victoria Stewart or to invite her to speak at your upcoming women’s event.