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.


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.




He even had fun. :)


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.



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.


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.