Call to me and I will answer you and tell you great and unsearchable things you do not know. Jeremiah 33: 2,3
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| Until the dawn arises... |
Just now in the darkness, what am I
afraid of? The light of day shines full, but the darkness hangs around. She's hard to banish, and doesn't obey like the
moon succumbing to the sun. She lingers and lurks, and this darkness speaks to me.
Occasionally, in the dark, the whippoorwill calls. He's not native, but we hear him nonetheless. I
think him a dastardly bird, an omen, not a song. But I can't escape
it: he sings in the dark. His eyes gleam, as does his
song. Does he sing of the darkness, or in spite of it? What am I
compelled or inspired to sing in the dark? Will I sing, no matter what?
Saturday night, I hear the owls. Once in awhile I hear one, but two is unusual. They call to each other. Responsively, their soft hooos echo through the window into our room, and I hear Him saying, "I am here. Call on me." Will I? Converse in the dark? Surely, the darkness is alive. Calling.
Near midnight, on another evening, I close up forgotten chickens. It's pitch dark, but for the beam of my flashlight, and I'm startled by white petals caught in the light. Daisies open in the dark, their petals in full bloom. Who knew? And I wonder: Do I bloom full in the darkness? Do I remain open?
There's treasure obtained by venturing into the darkness, for treasure of worth is not stored in day light spaces.
I will give you hidden treasures, riches stored in secret places, so that you may know that I am the Lord, the God of Israel, who summons you by name. Isaiah 45:3
A solitary raven pokes for worms and hops like a robin. I hold out fists. No. Open hands. I think like Elijah. Fill me. Give me. Manna for the dry riverbed of my soul. I receive like the hunted, a wild manna, given and known, only in dark barren places. The darkness delivers a special manna that day does not.
Walking the dark path is a gift few
possess. I know only a few who have navigated the dark path daily,
praising in the darkness. Like the whippoorwill, their songs remind me that the darkness is not nearly as dark as I
imagine it to be. There is life in the night. Alive, there is One who calls into the darkness, our darkness. Walking in the dark with God, these darkness docents have accessed a light many of us have never beheld. They have learned. I am
learning, that there's life in the darkness. We are not alone. I am not alone. God is in the shroud, but I must go up the mountain, in the dark, to meet Him.
Learning to Walk in the Dark by Barbara Brown Taylor
Learning to Walk in the Dark by Barbara Brown Taylor
Adjusting to the Dark by Pastor Susan Garlinger from the Night Vision Series, Seeing God in the Dark
Coveting prayers for Doernbecher procedures this week.
