Today, I was thinking about the concept of shining, and for some reason the adjective resilient came to mind. So I did a little hunting. “(Of a person or animal) able to withstand or recover quickly from difficult conditions” was the first meaning listed in the online dictionary. In the etymology notes, it said this comes from the Latin root, meaning “to leap back.”

There is something about this word that should particularly appeal to members of my contemporary culture. Not only are Americans generally know for our future-focused, independently-formed outlook on development and improvement. We are also, now more than ever, attracted to and driven by what is instant, painless, and doubtlessly positive.

By all accounts, then, a resilient person should be admired, our ideal. So does it follow that the person who cannot spring back at all is a hopeless case, or that the person who cannot spring back quickly is not worth our patience, compassion, or company? And even if a person does spring back quickly, what if they dare to admit that what knocked them down has changed their life forever and they recognize it will never be the same again? Is resignation to a new view of reality a sign one is not really resilient?

Here is where shining, persevering, and being resilient intersect in my mind.

Sometimes shining the light of Christ means giving another a hand when they are struggling to get back up via their courage and faith that have taken a beating. Sometimes it means respecting their “new normal” and respecting the time it takes for them to adjust to that new normal. Sometimes it means choosing to love those around us who would be dismissed by others, simply standing by the hurting ones because true love is patient.

And sometimes being like Christ means facing our own trials and mistreatments and dark nights of the soul with all the emotions and questions that are human while we continue to put one foot in front of the other. Being real without giving up.

We are told, after all, to look to Him as our example: the one who sweat blood when He was under duress, the one who sighed in exasperation when others simply didn’t get Him, the one who went on a cleansing rampage of rightful anger, the one who withdrew when He was exhausted. The one who was swallowed in a dark tomb for days until He was called forth to shine, brilliantly, with the morning sun.

In all these things, He was not faithless or slow or bad.

Just because one does not spring back in an instant, that doesn’t mean one will not spring back at all. And just because one springs back in a changed form doesn’t mean the end result is wrong or a loss.

In truth, perhaps that is when we will most fully and brilliantly shine, as we never could have before.

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.

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….