On my dark days, I chase light. I chase it with my eyes, try to breathe it, fiddle with camera settings to capture it so I can look at it later. Sometimes the light comes with words and fullness of Him who is the Light. Always, it draws a smile, a fascination, a curiosity that gives pause in the dark as I am reminded of one sunny day when I noticed it in my window and realized that God had not abandoned me. I was not alone.
I found it playing on the lock and the shade-cord in our bedroom one day when I was nursing.
I found it filtering over winter lilies in a cemetery, surrounded by dead, blooming in spite of the cold that pierced my clothing, froze my fingers. God-who-provides, clothing even the lilies, giving me peace to trust Him for yesterday, for today, for tomorrow.
"Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they?" (Mt. 6:26)
I caught it lighting my pill ramekin, pulsing over my grandmother's blue plaid, remembering warmth and joy and my favorite safe spot in the world.
Pete and I chased it light over water, glory piercing the clouds, encouraging memories of what we thought when we were children seeing those rays. The camera settings captured what we cannot look upon with naked eye. We remembered heaven, pondered glory that Moses saw, that Moses could not see.
"For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known." (1 Cor. 13:12)
And then there was sun on fire, on tulips my husband bought for me in third-day-gray when we didn't have much money, a promise of spring, hope for sun. Normally, I choose my color instead of the color he picks. This time I chose to trust him. The sun lit up his love, a learning submission.
And here, camera in car, sun remembered to rise after rain, shining all day, setting slow through trees over reddened blue water, reflecting glory we'd seen once before with no camera to capture.
And I know I have spilled it all out here, but the sun rose today, and it's shining here, and soon I will have a new house with a room full of it, and my computer is back, and my camera is charged, and tomorrow I have more pictures to share of my children - one or the other or both.
I'd count out my gifts, but I have lost the number, lost my heart and my head in the Light that shines in, and I am not afraid anymore, for He is with me, even in the valley of the shadow of death, entwining Himself with my cares as He cares for me. And this is a gift too. A thousand in one.
This post also linked at Holy Experience, sharing with the Gratitude Community in listing my own One Thousand Gifts. I will number today's when I find time again.
(Image © Informal Moments Photography)