yesterday i saw a lady shout angrily at a car that couldn’t hear / wouldn’t have cared. the car was turning left at a red light and speeding. this lady had two young children with her and they were about to cross the road. if i were that lady … i would pray very hard for my kids to have the sense to keep safe, and i would be really mad with the driver. i wonder if God is like that, begging and pleading with us not to put ourselves in danger. i wonder if it hurts when we do.
i have my own version of a dark place, and i think we all have something like that, some vice or some mode of thinking, some habit. we walk in with eyes wide open. there’s a sense of false familiarity: it’s a habit but it’s not home. it’s like one of those shimmery cloths that makes you cold instead of keeping you warm.
we have lots of labels for this sort of thing, idolatry and addiction and etc, but i find it helpful to think of this place simply as where the light does not go. there is nothing nourishing, delightful, pure or honest where the light doesn’t touch. it’s full of ugliness and death, it’s secretive and isolating and crippling and toxic. and yet we go. i go.
the refrain from a song of childhood and sunday school – “walk walk walk walk in the light” – is especially appropriate here, and beautiful too. and the light shineth in darkness and the darkness comprehended it not. WALK IN THE LIGHT.