belonging.

belonging.

Lately, I seem to be having a lot of discussions about light and darkness. From a moral perspective to a daylight saving time conversation to sunshine v. starlight. In fact, Hank built up a Japanese-style soaking tub in our backyard a couple weeks ago, also known as a Redneck Hot Tub. It’s a stock tank filled with water, heated by a beautiful wood stove, and it’s glorious to sit in at dusk and watch the twilight sky fill up with stars.

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It’s hard, however, for one of our kiddos. The darkness is uncomfortable. He moves closer to the house and light and inside spots when the sky turns dark blue. And I know that for him it was a sacrifice to be outside with me, chatting and following the dark storm clouds, on a night a couple weeks ago. For me, it was such a gift to explore with him, feeling his hand in mine and see him challenge the wind and the coming rain as much as he challenged his own nervousness.

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He even had fun. :)

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I think that sometimes we feel that the dark can be lonely. Maybe because we associate darkness with being alone…feeling isolated. I get it. But sometimes, the almost-dark is the most incredible time to see vivid color. Deep, rich blues. Saturated oranges and reds. Contrast. Drama. Quiet.

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I think that it’s the quiet that I like so much. The last nod to the light and the being able to tuck in with your people. And that we’ll-leave-the-lights-on-for-ya motto from a popular radio commercial a while back? That’s the promise of hope. Of not alone. Of warmth and belonging.

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The home light. Sometimes it’s hard to see it if it’s too bright outside. But boy-o am I glad it’s always there.

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