Cooler weather is finally upon us, y’all! My long-lost friend, fall, is here for what we hope will be an extended visit, and summer has packed her bags. Hoodies are washed, blankets are at the ready, and I have a Pinterest board of soups queued for the first crinkly leaves to drop.
As excited as I am for sweatshirt and sweater season, though, bidding goodbye to summer is always a touch bittersweet. Many memories were made over the last few months. We helped our oldest son move and settle into his first home. Our daughter started college classes, and our youngest son had the opportunity to go on a summer mission trip. Pivotal moments in a young person’s life, though I don’t know that they recognized them as such. Momentous moments tend to be overrun by the pressures of the mundane, especially in the rush to grow up.
I have fond memories of our first house and starting college, but it’s the stories our youngest has told of his mission trip that bought my mind a one-way ticket for a trip down memory lane. I was roughly his age when I traveled with our youth group to Green River, Wyoming for a mission trip.
Bits and pieces of our time in Wyoming are indelibly clear, but like most memories of my youth, the finer details are blurred at the edges. I remember singing “The Song that Never Ends” for about 11.5 hours of the 12-hour trip to Green River. I remember watching Little House on the Prairie and dining on Snickers and Dr. Pepper each morning at the home in which my friend and I stayed for the week. I remember going door-to-door to invite people to church, and I feel like I can remember that activity most clearly for two reasons:
- Speaking to random strangers has always been an activity that falls below having a root canal without anesthesia on the list of things I’m comfortable with. I hated every minute of it.
- Even at the time, I was a little freaked that our mission trip leaders were sending teenagers door-to-door, armed with nothing more than witnessing tracts and beaded leather scripture bracelets. Yet, no one – absolutely no one – batted an eye about it. What a world we lived in at the time.
What I remember most about the Green River trip, though, had nothing to do with teaching Vacation Bible School, inviting people to church or sharing the Gospel message. No, my favorite memory came on one of the last days of our mission trip – the day of the Trona Mine Tour.
Tidbit of trivia: Wyoming is the top source and exporter of trona, or soda ash, in the United States. Soda ash is used to manufacturer many products, from glass to household detergents, to air purifiers and water softeners. The trona mine we toured had an underground tunnel network, and staff and equipment enter the mine via a hoist that descends to the tunnels. From there, open four-wheeled vehicles provide transportation throughout the mine.
This is the setting into which they released us. Equipped with hardhats, headlamps and a whole bunch of teen angst, we stepped into the metal, cage-like elevator that would take us deep into the belly of the mine.
From the beginning, I was spellbound. I stared in awe at the rough texture of the scarred walls and ceiling that made up the vein through which we traveled. Dark shadows danced and scattered with each movement of our hardhats. It was gritty and spooky and my inner science nerd couldn’t get enough of it.
Then came a moment so profound, it would take decades for me to truly appreciate the Gospel message that played out right before my eyes. Our tour guide instructed each one of us to turn off the headlamps on our hardhats. We laughed and teased each other as one by one, lights flicked off and the shadows grew until they engulfed us completely.
I learned, at the age of 15, that darkness could feel heavy.
Suddenly, no one was laughing, and the resulting silence was… quite loud, actually. That’s the only way I can describe it. In total darkness, we held our hands up to our faces, but we couldn’t see them; we couldn’t see anything. It was the weirdest sense of disconnect. My mind knew that my hand was millimeters from my face, but my eyes couldn’t see what was there. At the same time, my other senses seemed to kick into overdrive. I could hear the creaks and moans of the mine, feel the hair on the back of my neck stand straight up, taste the metallic air that reminded me of a lightning storm back home. But my vision? Nothing. It was a moment of absolute darkness, the most oppressive moment of darkness that I had ever experienced.
Then came one light. One single headlamp flicked on to cut through the darkness. Though there were many of us in the mine, and though all of us were in desperate need of light, one was all we needed. Just one. Our eyes clung to that single shaft of light because in all honesty, we couldn’t not look at the light.
The totality of darkness no longer consumed us because that single ray of light existed.
One light.
I’ve thought about that light many times over the years.
A few months ago, our electricity went out and our home was plunged into sudden darkness. My eyes unconsciously sought the light of the moon shining through the window… and believe it or not, I remembered that single light in the mine.
Through a personal health crisis that ushered in a season of depression that oppressed me far longer and more deeply than the darkness of the mine… I was, with time, drawn back to that single light. A light that was almost painful in its brightness.
Across decades of marriage and raising children, losing friends and grieving loved ones… I have clung to the promise of the Light that chases away the shifting shadows.
One Light
Our world is dark, y’all. One at a time, bright lights seem to be flickering off, and the shadows are growing and consuming those already stumbling in the darkness. It’s heavy and oppressive; there’s a growing disconnect between what we know with our minds and our hearts and what we can see with our eyes.
Now, more than ever, the world needs to see light – just a single light in the darkness. And the good news? You and I carry the Light of the world inside us as children of the King.
When Jesus spoke again to the people, he said, “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.”
John 8:12 NIV
The Light of Life. Good news doesn’t get much better than that, friends.
Here’s the not-so-good-news, though, so brace yourself – to shine His Light into the dark world, sometimes we must break. See, we’re not fighting physical darkness in the physical world. Illuminating the physical world is as simple as flicking on a headlamp in a mine. To battle back darkness in the spiritual world, the light of Jesus needs to shine through our fractures and flaws. For the world to see the Light we carry, we have to open up so that the places that have been weakened and wounded can shine with the light of His healing and hope. Just as the jar of alabaster perfume was shattered to anoint the feet of Jesus, our lives must be shattered so that His love can shine through the cracks.
That’s a fairly horrible theory, right? To save the lost in darkness, we must break and let His light shine through our brokenness?
And yet, isn’t that just what Jesus did? He let himself be shattered in unimaginable ways, even to the point of descending into the grave, the ultimate symbol of absolute darkness. All for the glory of rising again, conquering death and darkness forever so that we may shine His Light to a world that is lost.
That’s our assignment, our calling. Our horrible, beautiful commission. To share our lives – brokenness and all – with such generosity, that the world becomes illuminated with a Light that can never be extinguished.
One world in darkness. One Light to share. One assignment:
Here’s another way to put it: You’re here to be light bringing out the God-colors in the world. God is not a secret to be kept. We’re going public with this, as public as a city on a hill. If I make you light-bearers, you don’t think I’m going to hide you under a bucket, do you? I’m putting you on a light stand. Now that I’ve put you there on a hilltop, on a light stand – shine! Keep open house; be generous with your lives. By opening up to others, you’ll prompt people to open up with God, this generous Father in heaven.
Matthew 5:14-16 MSG
And if you offer yourself to [assist] the hungry and satisfy the need of the afflicted, then your light will rise in darkness and your gloom will become like midday.
Isaiah 58:10 AMP