Leaning Toward the Light
I remember the first time I stood in complete darkness. Our family had traveled to Mammoth Cave and signed up for one of the expeditions. We followed a guide deep inside the caverns until we reached a point where no light could get through. Surrounded by stalactites and stalagmites and cold, clay earth, the leader instructed the group to turn off our headlamps, so we did.
The darkness was immediately disorienting. No matter how many times I blinked or squinted into the black, my eyes never adjusted. I held my open palm in front of my face and waved it around wildly, and while I could sense the movement, I could not see my own hand.
It was as if night had swallowed us whole.
While the lack of light was momentary, it was long enough for a slight panic to settle in my chest. How will we get out, without the light? Darkness has that effect, the longer it lingers. It makes me think of that line from Marilyn Robinson’s Gilead, how on a dark walk on a familiar path, the narrator reflects, “It’s strange how you never quite get used to the world at night.”
Perhaps that is why God began with light.
In the Genesis 1 narrative, God existed amongst “the watery depths” veiled in darkness, seemingly unfazed by the lack of form and unending vastness. And yet, while “even the darkness is not dark” to God himself (Ps. 139:12 CSB), he spoke the words “Let there be light” and declared the separation good, knowing that all of creation would depend upon its distinction (Gen. 1:3 CSB).
Light became the pulse of the earth and all its creatures, the rhythm by which we live. Creation tilts toward the sun. Plants reach toward the closest window, and cats climb into the corners of the room just to catch a few rays. Light is how we know when to work our hands and rest our heads.
We, the created, lean toward the light of the Creator.
Our our souls bend in his direction, longing for him to speak “Let there be light” into the darkness so we can reorient ourselves toward hope. Even if only a little. Even when we are not sure light will come again.
In these shorter days and longer nights, may we be attentive to where the light breaks through. May we linger in the goodness, curling up in warmth of its rays. May we allow even the smallest flicker settle our souls and turn us once again toward the Creator.
grace + peace,
Sarah
Good Things to Pick Up
a short list for leaning toward the Light in the new year
A Quote
I think about these words from counselor and author Meredith McDaniel often, especially when I feel the immensity of situations or my emotions. (To listen to our entire conversation, you can check out Ep. 37 of Not My Story podcast.)
A Few Books
January is my month for re-reading books that have a grounding effect for me, helping me plant my feet in the new year and say hello to old friends. The books in my stack this month include:
Art + Faith: A Theology of Making by Makoto Fujimara
With: Reimagining the Way We Relate to God by Skye Jethani
Pride and Prejudice: A Novel by Jane Austen
The Return of the Prodigal Son by Henri Nouwen
Also a quick note to say that I will be reading and discussing some of the concepts from Art + Faith live with paid subscribers on Friday, January 27 at noon EST. It’s not too late to join us!
An Article
One writer who continues to wow me with not only the way she strings words together, but also her beautiful vulnerability is Brittany Tinsley. As one who writes openly about her journey with self-injury, Brittany is no stranger to how darkness can press in on all sides, but she is one who (even in the shadows) continues to reach toward the light and invites us to join her. Whether you have a history with self-injury or simply want words that help you navigate dark days, I recommend checking out Brittany's
, especially her most recent article "Entering Gently."