Why is light given to one who cannot see the way, whom God has fenced in? (Job 3:23)
Night brings the light from stars already dead and day is but old light too.
And between the dead and the living, a dark expanse which only light can travel.
There is a storm outside my window and it has been there for days.
When you live next to a body of water, you can expect months of white and low grey skies. Roads closed in every direction and eventually you start to feel like there’s no way out. Like the earth has conspired to hedge you in.
This isn’t somewhere to be when there’s already a storm inside you too. When there’s churning and cold and you have to squint to see anything at all. It’s dark for days, sometimes weeks. Or longer.
No wonder you start to crave light and people are overjoyed when they begin to notice that come mid-afternoon it’s not dark yet. There’s still some light.
I find myself craving it about now. A light eternal, unlike stars or sun. A light without fire that consumes and turns all things to dust but rather encourages new growth. A light you can walk in, even if you only ever see the next step in front of you and not the end of the road.
There is meaning in the Light and I know this and turn toward it.
The storm breaks, just briefly, and a light streams in through clear window panes.
I open my palm to it, the cold in my bones dissipates. This Light, which cannot be held yet holds us all, reminds me that the dark is not all there is so long as there is Light to travel with in darkness.