Beauty on the Backroads

Stories of grace for life's unexpected turns

light of the world

When the light shines brightest {or We’ve got work to do}

I told you some of how I’ve been feeling since Election Day and those things are still true. I’m sad and confused and hurt and taking on the pain of others so much so that I’ve had to limit my social media use so I can function for my family.

But there’s something else stirring and while it’s not as noticeable yet, it gives me hope that what I’m feeling now is not all there is to feel.

—

It was a Monday of all days, and I had walked the kids to the bus stop. Fall mornings around here offer a chill, foreshadowing the season to come when we’ll be bundled up like snow adventurers just to walk a few feet to the bus. But the sun rises and warms the day and by afternoon, we’re outside again, with or without jackets to play and soak up as much time on the porch and in the yard as the season allows.

Fall has been fickle this year, giving us summer-like days and winter-like chills, all the while the leaves have taken their sweet time in changing colors, but change they have.

And when I walked back to the house that morning, this is what I saw at the end of our driveway.

The leaves on the tree next door turn sunshine yellow and fall onto our driveway like a carpet. It is my favorite part of autumn, I remember, and the sun glinting through the branches on its way to its peak stopped me where I stood. I felt like I had stumbled into something holy.

—

I’m not in the van as much these days, but when I do have the chance to put a CD on repeat, it’s Andrew Peterson’s The Burning Edge of Dawn, mostly because of the first song, The Dark Before the Dawn.

Take a listen or look up the lyrics. It helps me identify what I’m feeling and have felt. That dark days will come but dawn will follow. That we will have pain but there will be a balm.

I’m not just speaking of politics here because my life has seen plenty of dark days before last Tuesday, but it all reminds me that light shines brightest in the darkness. The sun almost blinds me first thing in the morning because my eyes have adjusted to the dark of night. It is the same reason the first colors of spring seem so bright after a winter full of brown and white.

I am in no way hoping for dark days ahead. I will not celebrate anything like that. But I know that no matter what the days ahead bring, I have a job to do and that is to bring Light into the world. In our church tradition, we culminate Advent with a candlelight service to symbolize the birth of the Light into a dark world.

We are constantly bearing this Light today and birthing it into the world.

When I watch the news, I am not thrilled by it but I see the potential for the bearers of Light to get to work and continue to work. As bleak as the future might seem, I am hopeful that the Church will do its best work in the days ahead. That we will stand against injustice with a loud voice instead of a whisper. That artists will create their greatest pieces. That beauty and love will be the hallmarks of a people who sometimes appear the opposite.

I do not hope these things as some sort of naive Pollyanna. It is not my nature to be optimistic. But I know that to Be Light in the midst of darkness is to be noticed and that millennia ago we, the Church, were invited to Be Light because the Light had come. In those days the world loved darkness more than Light, and it may be true in our day, too. But Light will always overcome.

Our work has always been the same, but sometimes we forget. At least I do. Or I cast off my responsibility because maybe there’s already enough Light in the world. But our world needs the Light more than ever.

And there are all kinds of light. Some of us will be a blazing fire. Others of us will be like a single candle. But it’s all Light and all bearing Light and it doesn’t matter if you’re a bonfire on a hill or a flashlight in the basement.

It is past time to Be Light in the world, and I say this to myself knowing that it might get darker before it gets lighter, that the light might be dim or faint, but to look for the Light is to make a declaration that all hope is not lost.

How have you seen Light in the darkness? How will you Be Light in this world?

Where there is darkness and light

I was slow to get moving yesterday, drinking coffee, waiting for laundry to dry, reading blogs and Facebook posts after taking our daughter to the bus. There was upsetting news about the government shutdown. About people not getting paid for their work. And about programs like WIC running out of funding until the shutdown is over. I thought of all the days we’ve relied on WIC to provide healthy, nourishing food for our family. I thought of how those who are food insecure would get a little more insecure with the news. How going to the grocery store is drudgery for me, especially when I’m using WIC checks because they take more time and there’s almost always a delay or a problem.

I left for the grocery store bearing burdens too heavy for my shoulders.

—

In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. The earth was formless and void, and darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was moving over the surface of the waters. Then God said, “Let there be light”; and there was light. God saw that the light was good; and God separated the light from the darkness. God called the light day, and the darkness He called night. And there was evening and there was morning, one day.

Genesis 1:1-5

light from darkness

Photo source: Carlos Koblischek via Stock Exchange

—

I pulled my van into the Aldi parking lot and dug out my quarter for the cart. I was mercifully alone on my grocery errand, the boy at home with his dad so I could be quick about restocking our shelves. I opened the hatch to find our reusable bags when the man with the broken English approached.

“You are going into the Aldi?”

“Yes,” I replied.

“Come, follow me. I give you my cart free.”

I closed the back of the van and followed him to his car. I briefly wondered if this was wise but the parking lot was full and it was daylight. I watched him unpack a few things into his car. He gestured for me to take the cart. I held out my quarter and he shook his head.

“Thank you,” I said. “Have a great day.”

I walked into the store a little lighter for the kindness.

The days may be dark, but here was a glimmer of light.

—

I filled the cart, checking it against my list, grateful for the chance to take my time and make decisions slowly. I was halfway through the store when I noticed her. She was agitated and looking for her friend to borrow a phone. With her Access (food stamp) card in one hand, she furiously dialed and punched in numbers to check her balance. I’d made the same call a day earlier, checking to see if our monthly allotment had been distributed in the chaos of government bureaucracy. I’m forever fearful that I’ll get to the checkout with a cart full of groceries and not be able to pay because of a technological glitch.

I watched out of the corner of my eye as she was visibly upset with the result of her call. I don’t know the circumstances or lifestyle of the woman but I know what it is, at least in part, to stare at empty pantry shelves and wonder when and how you’re going to put a meal together.

My mind immediately leaps to the worst-case scenario, and as I looked at my cart, I wondered if maybe there was a problem after all and maybe I wouldn’t be able to pay for my groceries.

I walked on in faith, paid for my groceries and bagged them, grateful that another trip to the grocery store was done.

—

When I got to the car, I checked my phone. Even though it’s October and I’ve had less than a handful of calls from our daughter’s school, I’m still paranoid that she’ll need something during the day and I’ll miss the call.

I saw an e-mail instead. An urgent prayer request. A tragic loss.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no.

I said the words out loud.

In the beginning there was darkness. And there was light. And I wondered if God could have made a world without darkness.

—

I tire quickly of the darkness. I avoid the news. I keep to the safety of the neighborhoods I know. I shut my eyes to the horrors of the world because it is too much to bear. Too much darkness. Not enough light. Never enough light.

light candle

Photo source: Andrey Gorshkov via Stock Exchange

I tire quickly of my darkness, the black parts of my heart that seep out through my words and actions. I forget that the story doesn’t end with darkness.

You are the light of the world.

The people walking in darkness have seen a great light.

The city has no need of the sun or of the moon to shine on it, for the glory of God has illumined it, and its lamp is the Lamb.

—

In the beginning there was darkness. But the Spirit of God was moving. Light was being born.

There is darkness, yes, but there is light and it is us, and we are pushing back the darkness one kindness, one act of love at a time.