On Election Day many of us headed off to the polls excited about a bright new world full of promise and possibility and without glass ceilings.
The next morning we awakened to an America we didn’t recognize, a country we used to love but feel that we don’t even know any more.
We are grieving and we are discouraged and the conservatives I know (translation: almost EVERYONE I know, here in red East Tennessee) think we are crybabies and want us to get over it.
In October, I cleared out our fire pit, planning for crisp November evenings.
The pit remains empty and cold. My bonfire dreams are dead like so many other dreams seem to be. Most of East Tennessee is under a burn ban, and this will continue until just a few days before winter begins. Tempers are flaring too, and those flames may be harder to dampen.
I am intimately aware of the destructive power of fire.
But fire, controlled, also warms and illumines.
I love candles and every evening before we sit down to watch our show I light several. I wait for the moment when the flame from the lighter catches the wick and the candle begins to burn on its own, its flame swelling to life.
My family visited Mammoth Cave recently. After gathering us in a large room, our guide turned off every light and left us to wait in complete, impenetrable darkness. Then he lit just one match and the entire cave was illuminated. Our eyes can grow accustomed to the deepest darkness. One small flame becomes enough to see by.
Dark nights of the soul are steps along the journey to spiritual enlightenment. By all means we SHOULD curse the darkness we see in the world around us right now. But that doesn’t mean we can’t light candles. We can burn. We can shine.
For you were once darkness, but now you are light in the Lord. Live as children of light . . . (Ephesians 5:8)