The Way the Light Bends

I limped into the kitchen early this morning to make coffee, my right eye still swollen nearly shut with what I’m referring to as the Stye of the Century, my husband upstairs with his boot and his crutches and a surgery date set little more than a week from now. The world outside was just starting to wake up as I opened the kitchen shutters, the trees holding onto the dark of night even as the sun forced its way into the sky. And then: a beam of light bent its way through the darkness to meet me. Just one ray of sunlight brave enough to cut through the dark.

The Man and I spoke last night about how we would remember this year, if it would be defined by crutches and pain and limitations or by rest and time together and the community that has blessed us. This morning, as I stood at my kitchen sink, looking out on that golden streak of dawn, I knew in a tangible way, that how we remember this year is going to be determined in large part by what we look for right now.

The darkness is always near, but God reaches out to show us himself in these seasons, not in a blinding flood of revelation (not yet!), but in streaks of goodness that seem to bend to touch our hearts, if we can look into the darkness so that we don’t miss them.

Today I am looking for those curving light rays: how is God stretching out his hand in a small way to warm, to beautify, to light the way ahead?

I see this in my children: understanding cancelled plans, running endless errands up and down the stairs, cheerfully thinking of others as better than themselves…when they are children, and maybe they shouldn’t have to.

I see this in our community: offering to step in to help with kids, meals, subbing my classes, walking the dog…when it would be easy to write us off as short-term acquaintances who could take care of themselves.

I see this in my husband: concerned for everyone but himself, not complaining, finding creative solutions to his limitations, actively looking for ways to encourage others around him…even as he is in excruciating pain.

James 1:17 reminds us:

Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change.

I don’t want to miss the good and perfect gifts coming our way. So today and every day, I’m challenging myself to look for the way the light bends to reach me, even as it curves around dark shadows that loom tall.