It’s 5 p.m. and I stride out of my office building. The setting sun is a runny yolk in a charcoal skillet sky. It’s getting dark, quick, and I’m ready to put on my pajamas. This summer-hearted girl struggles with the literal, natural darkness that is ever present as we descend into winter.
But the most troubling darkness isn’t in the sky.
As soon as I settle into my car for the drive home, I turn on the radio. At home and abroad, every passing news item casts a shadow. Yes, I am still a little queasy from the election; it was ugly and small and dark.
But, more so, I am sick when I hear reports about families and children in Syria, displaced and depressed, waiting for some day to break. Waiting for the bleeding to stop.
It was hard on Sunday as I listened to my fellow churchgoers share prayer requests—for the homeless man out in the cold and the neighbor recently diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. For the baby born with little brain function and the baby not born.
Literal and spiritual, the darkness (and the deep sadness that comes with it) is real. Not just in November 2016. Or 2016. Or the 21st century. As long as there’s been breath in our lungs and sin in our hearts, we’ve been stumbling around in the fear and pain. There are blessings and joys and flashes of fun that keep us going, but let’s acknowledge that all is not right with the world.
The heavy thoughts accumulate like a blanket of wet snow. The persistent kind that resists removal.
I have to turn off the radio and just get quiet with myself. Out loud, in my car, by myself, I say:
“God, you are it: you are my only hope here. You really are.”
And I mean it.
I don’t know how I could walk through so much darkness—the injustices and grieving—if I didn’t have Jesus to offer strength for today and hope for tomorrow. I cannot be the light source here; He is it.
And, if you think this is a depressing entry, yes, I would agree with you… if I didn’t have Jesus. Without Him, it would all be too much.
Some people say belief in Christ is a crutch. A Pollyanna way to process the world. A coping mechanism.
Here’s what I know: we are sick and we need a doctor. We don’t need a crutch; we need a cure—a cure for the homesickness and brokenness that we all have inside. We long for more to life, and Jesus promises it abundantly. We are slaves to sin and self, and He lives and died to buy us back to Himself—even though we are all broken and busted—because He made us and wants to love us back to wholeness and freedom. Jesus answers the darkness we feel and experience…with Himself.
Here’s what I know: we need some light up in here. I need Him so much and always—but especially in this winter season. TV commercials tell us everyone’s so bright and buzzy this time of year, but if you listen to actual people, they’re hurting and craving more than this world has to offer.
“If I find in myself a desire which no experience in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that I was made for another world.” – C.S. Lewis
For all these reasons, Scripture associating God with light is layered with fresh meaning for me right now. I need to hear it. I need the long view. It reminds me: don’t let your eyes adjust too much to the dark; this isn’t as good as it gets.
You were made for Light.
It seems right to close this post with verses from Isaiah 9, an Old Testament prophecy that predicts Jesus’ coming and is shared a lot this time of year as we approach Christmas.
“The people walking in darkness have seen a great light;
on those living in the land of deep darkness a light has dawned…For to us a child is born, to us a son is given,
and the government will be on his shoulders.And he will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.
Of the greatness of his government and peace there will be no end..”
Sarah Weller 