The house went dark hours ago, so we sit in the glow of candlelight, shining up faces and making shadows dance on the wall. I tap out a few words on my iPhone because the computers are down.
Listen now: flicker of the flame on wicks, ice pelting the windows like chatter of nature. Hear now: girls’ voices in a shadowy corner. Windows are iced over, like we’re glazed in, sealed in, behind a veil.
I haven’t heard my inner or outer life this vividly in a long time. Haven’t heard the sounds that you can only hear in the silence. The dark can tell you secrets. It’s a beautiful mess when the power shuts down.
Thunder cracks. Rattles the walls. I light a HOPE candle and think about how this is the way we see in the murk and muck of life. When things go dark, we light a flame and hold up a candle so we can find our way along the path, and so we can light the path of another soul — as if to say, “maybe you can see a little bit better now, a little bit better than you could before.”
See, that’s the thing about your story. It carries light to the most sullen, desperate parts of a dark old world. It may well be one of the most exquisite acts you perform this side of Heaven – sharing your story with your words and with your very life. All of you , a HOPE candle for the light-starved.
Outside, lightning splits open the sky, and I can see it from inside the dark.
(Pardon the brevity. Posting by iPhone and candlelight. And the occasional burst of lightning.)
The #TellHisStory link up is open.