Light in Darkness

I think I’ve always been afraid of the dark.

When I was a child, it was the darkness of my room and the boogie man in the closet. At camp, it was the darkness of the woods at night and animals waiting to pounce. Now, it’s not the external darkness that haunts me, it’s the internal darkness, and it’s all I can do to keep it at bay this time of year.

Make no mistake, I used to be “Mr. Christmas.” Just ask my siblings who still roll their eyes when they think of the boy who shook with excitement while hanging stockings and pulled them out of bed too early on Christmas mornings. Just ask the people with whom I used to work. If that doesn’t convince you, look at my bank account and see how overboard I’ve gone every year.

And yet, beneath it has always dwelled a darkness, a deep sadness, that even now I find hard to write about. At first it was the result of my wanting more from life – the people, places, and things of my life – than it could possibly give. Then, it was the contrast between the joy of the season and the reality of my life that opened the door for the darkness.

If I let it, the darkness will enter and prevent me from seeing the many blessings of my life. No, Christmas will never live up to my wild, romantic imagination, nor will buying presents I cannot afford light up the dark. I will never be able to get people to do or say what I think they should.  

Understanding this is the only way I’ve come to learn the most important lesson of Christmas: it’s not about me. It’s not about what I think or feel, and, most importantly, it’s not about what I do. This is the season that’s all about God - what God has done and continues to do. In the Gospel of John, it’s written that God’s light comes into the darkness and the darkness can’t overcome it.

This year I need to cling to that truth like a prayer.

When I do, I see that God has always come into the world when it’s darkest. He did it two thousand years ago, and he does it today. Just ask the family sitting in the hospital waiting room, the spouse sitting alone at the kitchen table, and the fired man carrying the cardboard box from his cubical. No wonder the church chose this time of year, when the days are shortest and things darkest, to celebrate Christmas. It forever reminds us that there is no darkness God cannot enter, no darkness that can overcome the light of God’s presence.

I may not always know that, but I’ve always believed it.

New Life

The moment came with clarity and power, even if it was a creation of my imagination. I let it come and speak to me knowing that such visions are often my soul, or God, trying to tell me something.

I was standing front of the individual who was about to enter Fellowship Hall, an alcohol rehab facility near where I live. The person was bleary-eyed, nervous, and a little embarrassed. I completely understood because I have been there before.  There were only three steps up to the front door, but the climb ahead was overwhelming. I smiled and handed him the medal I was given for completing the half marathon which raised the money to pay for the individual’s time there.

I wanted to tell the person it was going to be alright. There’s new life on the other side, I wanted to promise, but there’s a lot of hard work to get there. The new life that is yours for the taking is a gift. You can either receive it or refuse it, but if you accept it, the new life will change everything. Some of that change will be surprising, maybe even unwanted. No wonder so few climb the steps to the door.

The vision got blurry at this point. I suppose I touched his or her shoulder and said I’d be with him/her throughout. It wasn’t until I opened my eyes that I saw the moment was for me. It was the moment given to me, and countless others, throughout the ages regardless of whether we have needed rehab or not.

The one who created us stands before us and offers us new life. The journey is overwhelming, but the look in God’s eyes is one of understanding, like he knows what we’re about to go through, like he intends to be with us throughout it. If we accept the gift, the life we find may not be the one we imagined but be the life for which we’ve always dreamed.

Despite what the world and many self-help books tell us, it’s not a life of our creating. It is a gift, a life beyond our vision, beyond our efforts, although it will take all that we have to find it. The work is endless and will require complete surrender and the willingness to stumble or fall along the way. We will lose and find friends along the way, just as we will come to know the one who stands before us offering the gift.

God stands before us, just as God walks beside us on the other side of the door. On the other side is a stranger, it has been said, and the stranger is us . . . our authentic selves, the people we were created to be – completely loved, fully redeemed, and sustained for the rest of our journey.

Two Souls

I ran for one soul.

I’m not sure where the idea came from, but sometime during my training for the Kiawah half marathon I thought it would change the nature of the effort if my running could mean more than a painful challenge for my old body. I decided to run to raise money so someone who otherwise could not afford a 28-day rehab program could do so for free.  It cost more than I expected, and I didn’t know if my family and friends would support the effort. They did . . . in a big way.

So, I awakened early and made my way to the starting line with a walk on the beach by myself. I thought about the person whose life was about to change. Who would it be? How desperate will he or she be when they call to see if there’s any way to receive treatment. Do they have a spouse? Children? Is the law involved? Have they lost their job?

The sun rose over my shoulder, and I thought about their new day, the dawn they’re about to be given. It made me think of when I first walked in the doors of my rehab center. It’s a moment I’d never like to experience again, but it’s also a moment I’ll never regret. In fact, it’s a moment for which I will forever be grateful.

As I approached the starting line, I heard the announcer encourage the crowd. It made me realize I wasn’t running alone. Beside me would be someone I’ll never meet. I’m running for a soul – his or hers. But I’m also running for another soul - mine.