by Rachelle Rea
I made a startling discovery while washing dishes this evening. And I never would have discovered it had it not been evening. The dancing darkness outside the window pulled me in, inviting me to plunge into nothingness and numbness and the shivery night. My fingers slowed on their sudsy trek through the dishwater and I focused, truly focused, on the window and my view of the outside world.
There wasn’t much of a view. I acknowledged the darkness, accepted it, shook hands and made an agreement with it in my mind that I would stay on this side of the window, the safe side, and that the darkness would stay out there. Where is “out there” exactly? And who ever speaks those words without venturing into them?
My view of the outside world was skewed because the brightness of the inside reflected on the glass. Yes, there was darkness, but that is all that I saw. I couldn’t see the way the squirrels slept in the trees. I couldn’t see the way the moon hung over the wooden fence. I couldn’t even see the stars shining in the blanket of sky like twinkling smiles. All I knew was there is darkness. So I scrubbed and sudsed and slugged through the washing, talking to the newsman on the television, giggling at the soap bubbles I created, humming a tune from a Disney movie under my breath.
Then I made a startling discovery: There I stood, literally lost in my own little world. Lost. Oblivious to all the bright shining world waiting to be discovered, explored, touched and tasted. I dismissed the darkness, finished the dishes, and climbed the stairs to thread thoughts together into words (is there any other way for me to comprehend but to wordcraft, I ask you, self?).
The light of my happy little world, tucked safe behind the window glass, had blinded me to the very thing that maybe held the most wonder, the most of Him. I’ll never know unless I slip out the porch door and dare to take a look beyond my own imaginings. Will I dare? Will I dare to step out into the darkness beyond my backyard, my sleepy Southern town, my own rose-colored glasses of what the world really is? Will I have the courage to take that ticket to another world—a world that may seem darker, but, in reality, may introduce me anew to the Light of all the World?
Am I ready for that—to have my assumptions shattered, my stereotypes sunk to the floor beneath my feet? An even better question: Am I willing for that? Am I willing to be like Mary and say, “Let it be done to me as you have said,” for she knew Whose plan it was? Am I willing to jump into the den like Daniel, for he knew Who would close the mouths of the lions leaping? Am I willing to say “Yes, Lord” like that great chorus and crowd of saints who have gone before?
Am I willing? Am I daring? Am I ready? Am I aware of the truth that Jesus is the Way, the Truth, and the Life, not just in my bright bubble, but in this dark, dark world?
And am I ready to be that light, as well?
Rachelle Rea is a homeschool grad, college girl, and dreamer who blogs at www.rachellerea.com.