A Light in the Darkness
Posted by Lynn Wehner in Faith on Wednesday, January 19, 2011 1:30 PM
A week of snowstorms was capped off yesterday by an ice event that sank our day’s plans — and eventually our power lines.
Late in the afternoon, the local electrical grid finally gave in, and we found ourselves without heat or light for many hours. We groused, lamented about lost computer usage and limited dinner options, and then settled in with candles and flashlights.
But it’s funny how we see light most clearly sometimes in the darkness. My family was quiet, relaxing, talking (okay, and playing some obligatory hide-and-seek pranks on each other). Our neighborhood, on all sides, was darkness.
And what was I almost immediately drawn to? The day’s Scripture readings. I hadn’t read them earlier in the day — in all of my frantic busyness, in my flurry of work and email and blogging and schooling and laundry and cleaning and phone calls. It took being bathed in darkness for me to stop, settle in, pick up God’s Word, and see his light.
You guys know I love my daily Magnificat reflections. God just seems to never disappoint. In the middle of the ice storm, in a darkened house lit only with candles for a backdrop, this reflection on Psalm 104 was no exception:
“One dimension of God is mystery so awesome in its brightness that before it we are blinded. We imagine the God of mystery as dwelling far away, above and beyond the heavens he has made. Yet this same God of mystery dwells very near to us, in our midst, in Jesus Christ.”
A God whose mystery is so awesome that it blinds us in its brightness. And it took darkness for me to tune in and really see. Sitting there, I really felt the enormously awesome and mysterious power of God — as well as the close, intimate relationship I, his daughter, share with his Son. God, blinding me with brightness. Jesus, the Light of the World, piercing the darkness of the house, the room, and my heart.
Can I just ask, Lord, that you help me to be drawn to you first next time? That I’m drawn to you not only in the darkness, when I have “nothing better to do,” but also when the light has returned?
Yes, when the power returned, so did my usual flood of activities and obligations. But oh how I relished the quiet and the candlelight — and immersing myself in your beautiful word. Will I remember the lesson?
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