The Prism at Trinity College

In 1666, Isaac Newton darkened his room at Trinity College, Cambridge, and cut a small hole in the window shutter. A narrow beam of sunlight entered and struck a glass prism on his table. What emerged on the far wall astonished him — a brilliant ribbon of color stretching from deep violet to fiery red. Every hue the human eye can perceive had been hiding inside that single shaft of white light.

This is what James wants us to understand about God. The Father of Lights is the source of "every good gift and every perfect gift." Not some gifts. Every one. The love that holds a marriage together on its hardest day, the rain that breaks a drought across the Oklahoma panhandle, the child who laughs so hard milk comes out her nose at the dinner table, the surgeon's steady hands at 2 a.m. — all of it streams from one unchanging Source.

And unlike the sun, which sets each evening and hides behind November clouds, the Father of Lights casts no shifting shadow. Newton's prism could only work when sunlight cooperated. But the Almighty never dims, never wavers, never turns away. His generosity is as constant as His character.

Every color in your life — every joy, every provision, every undeserved moment of grace — traces back to the same radiant, unwavering God who has never once flickered.