The lights flicker off, and the two oldest scramble to parent laps because it’s dark and they are afraid. We hold them, the 7-year-old, all 54 pounds of him, on my lap, and the 4-year-old on his daddy’s.
“When will the lights come back on?” the oldest asks, his voice tight with anxiety. Candles lick light on his lined brow.
No one knows the answer to this question, and so he prays, right there in the middle of dinner, that the lights will come back on right now. And he waits. And they don’t.
It’s apparent to me, but maybe not so apparent to him, that his prayer was answered long before he voiced it, because there, in the center of our table, is a line of candles shaking warm.
The darkness has not overcome the light.
These boys fear the dark, but without the dark this night, we would not eat by candlelight, and without the dark they would not huddle so close around our table, some on laps, some leaning near, and without the dark and those candles flashing flames, we would not laugh about the shadow animals our hands make.
The darkness, tonight, has pulled us closer to one another.
We finish dinner with our daily thankfuls, and the 4-year-old says, “I’m thankful for the lights, and I hope they come back on soon.”
“Sometimes we don’t realize how thankful we are for something until it’s gone, do we?” I say, and I hug him tight because he has traded places with his big brother and wiggles now on my lap.
I think of the little years, how they are gifts sometimes hard to see for all their work, and then they’re gone faster than we can blink. We can miss this gift of moments, of every moment, until all those moments are gone, until we mark another year’s turning, until we no longer look or feel young.
The light is a gift, and sometimes it is only when we sink into dark, until only that dim glow remains, until the light shimmers soft yet eternal, that we can fully see it for its beauty.
Tonight, we say our prayers around a hushed table, that the lights will come back on soon, that God will protect the workers repairing power lines, that He will guard all who live exposed to this windy winter storm, and we send boys to bed with lights blazing once more, and we end this day with greater wisdom moving in our deep.
No matter how unexpected that darkness, or how long it stays, the light will always endure.
This is an excerpt from Family on Purpose Episode 1: January: We embrace wisdom. Spiritual Maturity. Humility. This episode will release Dec. 2. To learn more about Family on Purpose, visit the project landing page.
