These little lights of mine...

I dug out my SAD light last week. It had been cold and grey outside for too long and I longed for light. Sitting under the fake sunshine, I began remembering all the Bible verses and images I learned as a child that had light as a noun… Arise! Shine, for thy light is come…Don’t hide your light under a bushel basket… Jesus is the Light of the world…This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine…Brightly beams our Father’s lighthouse…The Lord is my Light and my salvation… the list ran on and on. My thirty minute substitute sun session ended as the sun peeped over the mountains spreading golden light from the red clouds. The season of decreasing light and increasing darkness has ended. Every morning there is a little more light and the almost invisible journey towards spring and summer has begun.
I have always loved the night darkness. How else could you see the stars? The mystery sounds, the rustles and creakings, the light as a feather sounds of bat wings remind me of all I do not know and cannot see. Sunny blue skies do not spark my God imagination in quite the same way the night sky does. The vast lonely dark upside down sky bowl, punctuated by stars and planets, is beyond my comprehension. The more we learn about our universe, the more we do not know. Like the Psalmist, I am forced to exclaim, “What is man that Thou art mindful of him?”
All good mystics, whatever their religious persuasion, know there is a line, or as Paul said, a mirror through which we see darkly. This line, this mirror separates our knowing from our unknowing. Passing over the line, seeing through the mirror frees us from the burden of always having to have an answer. Sometimes there are no answers, just the questions.
Phillip Simmons in his book “Learning to Fall” quotes a distinction learned from the philosopher Gabriel Marcel. Problems are to be solved; true mysteries are not. All the self help books in the world cannot resolve this mystery of life and death, our life and death, in the vast universe. All of us, he says, find our own way to the mystery. And then, we must decide whether to let go and leap into the mystery or back away from the edge of the cliff. Letting go of solutions, he says, is the first lesson of falling and the hardest.
Dearly Beloved, in this season of resolutions and promises, clean calendars and fresh starts, keep me off balance, tilted towards You as I fall into the mystery of another year. Remind me life is too wonderful for words and I cannot have all the answers. I am loving You in the darkness of the season, the darkness of the night, and the darkness of my being. It is more than enough.