The Light Sees and Knows (a poem)
The light was warm — just warm enough
To melt the frost, to dry the rain.
Dark clouds cleared as sunlight slid down
These phantom lines of hidden pain.
There is a rainbow high above
Though I cannot see with these eyes.
But I will let the light seep in
And wait with hope for bluer skies.
When I light a candle to make my kitchen more comfy, I don’t always follow the directions. Directions? For candle–lighting? Yes. According to most candle manufacturers, I should trim the wick before lighting and relighting.
I didn’t understand why until I lit an extra long wick and had a smoking candle putting off black grime into the air. Being an observant person, I decided to comply the next time. But I trimmed the wick too closely, and after that it was nearly impossible to light that candle so the flame would actually stay lit and not just flicker out.
Some people say the way to make room for illumination and true enlightenment is to ignore all thoughts and feelings, to completely empty oneself so that we think of nothing and feel nothing (at least nothing negative, anyway). Doing so will provide room for something higher to inhabit us. We are simply to be and all else will fall into place, perfection eclipsing us in the silence of minimalism and simplicity.
Perhaps my use of the phrase “be illuminated” implies that I agree. Just be and the illumination will come; we have no hand in it, God does it all.
But the irony and contrast in my mind lies in the fact that the illumination process for the follower of Jesus is not a passive “be” but an active one.
We must choose daily to want to be illuminated.
We must choose daily to lay our worries and concerns down at His feet.
We must choose daily to trust Him with our pain and questions and doubts.
We must choose daily to lift up open hands and an open heart to Him so we may receive and reflect His light.
We must choose daily to invite Him in, not so that our thoughts and feelings disappear, but so that they align more with His thoughts and feelings.
We must choose daily to recognize our hate and our limitations so we can humbly request they be cauterized by the flames of Love and Grace.
Do these choices require a stillness and a receiving? Yes. Do they also require an openness and a sense of cooperation? Yes.
Perhaps these are the ways He keeps our wick trimmed to just the right length so we are ready to be lit at anytime.
Three Lights: A Parable
There was once a grandfather who worked diligently to make a gorgeous paper lantern to hang in front of his house for a festival, to welcome his family home. Years of experience had taught him how to set the dimensions just right, so the small flame inside would not be near enough to light the vibrant sides on fire. He handled the delicate paper with equal care, fastening it without a wrinkle or tear. And when the happy day came and his lantern was illuminated, his relatives stood near it and remembered happy celebrations of the past.
There was once a glassblowing artisan who decided to attempt a particularly exquisite (and incredibly challenging) design. If successfully completed, it would yield a wonderous top for a wedding gift to his bride: the chimney of an oil lamp for their new chamber. He applied all the skills he possessed, but just as the work in progress was reaching a most critical formation point, he saw a vital part beginning to slip. In a split-second, going on instinct, he knew he could save it if he used his hand…but that using his hand would likely mean a severe burn–or worse. Yet, he didn’t give it a second thought. His hand shot forward to save the piece, a sacrifice which eventually yielded the perfect result. Two months later, when the chamber was softly illuminated and he led his sweet lady into that space for the first time, she spied the lamp and joy radiated from her smile. The artisan’s heart turned over, and he felt the fresh scar at the base of his hand, knowing he would do it again for her.
There was once a potter who made humble lamps of clay and some fine pottery besides. One day, as he was walking to his shop, he came across some boys who were playing in a trash pile. They had picked up a large bowl with a lovely blue and gold pattern on it and were throwing it on the ground repeatedly, smashing the chunks into smaller and smaller pieces. He chided them for the destruction and disruption they were causing and drove them away. When he looked down at the fragments now littering the ground, he recognized the piece; he had made it on commission for a woman in the neighborhood years before. It crushed his heart to know that someone would crush one of his most intricate pieces, for no other reason than just the sake of a temporary thrill. But then, he had a marvelous idea. He gathered up what bits and slivers he could find, and he carried them carefully back to his shop. Then, after forming a new lamp from fresh clay, he pressed the broken pieces into the sides of the lamp to form a mosaic pattern. And later, when that lamp was ready to be used, he decided not to sell it. Instead, he took it home and set it on the dining table. When it was illuminated, the family gathered around to enjoy sweet fellowship. And they all exclaimed over how the dazzling reflection of the light off the gold flecks in the broken pieces made it the most beautiful lamp they had ever seen.
In truth, the grandfather and the artisan-husband and the potter are all the same person. And the work they have made and remade will always bear their mark of beauty when illuminated.
There is a single-bulb lantern hanging to the left of my garage door. When I bought the place a couple of years ago, it seem like an added bonus to help promote a safer atmosphere. But, intuitive as something like turning on a light may be, there are a number of light switches in my basement, and I haven’t always been successful in turning on that light when I wanted to.
It was only this week, when I happened to mention it to a neighbor, that I figured out with certainty which switch manually controls that light. “If it’s not working for you,” the neighbor added, “be sure to consider changing the bulb. I have had to unscrew the fixture on mine and do that.”
Later, when I went to inspect my own more closely, I found the bulb is currently working. But a spider family seems to have settled in. And it wasn’t until the light was turned on again and I was standing up close that I saw just how cozy the webs seemed to be. I made a mental note about how I would need to clean that soon, so that when I do have to change the bulb, it will be a bit more pleasant of a job.
(Yes, this non-spider-lover admits her intentional procrastination. Why deal with ickiness when I can write an encouraging blog post instead? 🙂)
Illuminating a space can bring comfort or greater ability to see. But it can also reveal things we’d rather not deal with or would rather forget. Continuing with examples in a house, light might reveal crusty grime on dishes that were poorly washed, a thick layer of dust that’s been piling up on the bookshelves, or some previously-unknown roaches skittering away in fear.
This also applies more abstractly to the human life and heart. Why do we fear letting another get too close to us, to know who we truly are and what we have wrestled with–or wrestle with still? Why is it painful when others correct our mistakes, criticize our efforts, and reject our (sometimes imperfect) gifts and attempts? Why can we be inclined to hide from God’s goodness and love when stepping into His light would require us to be fully seen, warts and all?
Being willing to be illuminated, to be completely seen for the sake of being cleaned, is not a venture for the faint of heart. It takes courage. And yet, it is not an endeavor for the self-sufficiently brave. It requires brokenness, humility.
Can God shine His love through us while we are still growing, while we are still human in a hurting world?
Yes, glory, and amen.
But won’t His love be more fully and vibrantly able to shine if we embrace the reality of the gunk we still carry and openly invite Him to sweep away the webs?
Yes, glory, and amen.
And now that my writing task is done, perhaps this humble homeowner should stop procrastinating….
I love this picture I found through a free wallpaper phone app. Not only does it display an impressive presentation; it also reflects what I want to explore more fully in the next two months.
Before we can effectively and lastingly shine in this old world, we must first be illuminated by Light apart from ourselves.
This is a fundamental, seemingly-elementary thought. Yet, I imagine I am not the only one who needs to ponder it…and come back to be reminded of it time and time again.
There’s a beauty in the heat and vibrant light of the sun, the stars, a candle’s flame, or a campfire. Yet, all of those things will (eventually) burn out.
But there’s also a beauty in the soft glow of the moon, a piece of cold rock which is warmed by and reflects the sun. And, I suppose, something that isn’t on fire of its own making can never be in danger of burning out.
These ponderings remind me of a song I have long loved. I hope that listening to it today will help us consider whether we are more prone to voraciously shine our own light or quietly reflect a Light shining on us.