Darkness is as Light
I've never thought too hard about the saying, "there's a light at the end of the tunnel." But when I really sit and ponder it, it implies that the tunnel is dark. If the only hope we have is the glimmer of light at the end of it, there is certain darkness for the rest of the tunnel ahead. And that's exactly how the future feels: dark. It is impossible to see, to see through, to feel our way forward when we can barely see our hand in front of our faces. That's the path I've been walking. And even though there is a light at the end, the tunnel I'm in now is dark.
You're probably tired of reading about this journey by now but it has been one of the most soul-shaping endeavors I've been on. From the torrential tears to the moments of rejoicing, I've felt more stripped bare and desperate for the presence of God than ever before. It seems like time and time again, Psalm 139 has been making an appearance in my life. A professor quoted it. A chapel speaker preached on it. Shane & Shane wrote a song on it that plays almost every time I'm in my car. It's quickly become one of my favorites of all time.
I could probably write a billion blogs about every verse in that passage, but I'll start with the one that is most dear at the present moment. Verses 9-11 read,
If I take the wings of the morning
and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea,
10 even there your hand shall lead me,
and your right hand shall hold me.
11 If I say, “Surely the darkness shall cover me,
and the light about me be night,”
12 even the darkness is not dark to you;
the night is bright as the day,
for darkness is as light with you.
I've now read this passage almost thirty times, as friends have encouraged me to meditate on its truths every day of this journey. My ESV commentary says that the "wings of the morning" describe the place where the sun rises - the farthest reaches of the eastern earth. The "uttermost parts of the sea" was described as the westernmost Mediterranean waters. So from the farthest possible east to the farthest possible west, even there, the Lord is leading and holding me.
I feel like I've sent job applications from the farthest east to the farthest west. What a reminder of the way He is holding me!
And then, yesterday, I was getting ready to go in for my final-round interview at Westfield. I spent the night at a friends in the area so that I wouldn't have a long drive in the morning, but faulty AC meant I had barely slept at all. I woke up discouraged and anxious - not only was I about to walk through more darkness; I was about to do it on three hours of sleep.
But as I sat outside on their porch swing, surrounded by blooming trees and singing birds, a light drizzle falling like mist on the world beyond the porch, I was overwhelmed with peace.
I looked out to the suburban streets before me and watched a dad taking his daughter to the bus stop. It was raining enough that he picked her up and carried her in one arm while holding an umbrella in another. She snuggled up to his neck, sheltered and safe from the falling rain.
The image of a loving father leading and protecting his daughter brought tears to my eyes. I looked down to the pages of Psalm 139: "Even there your hand shall lead me, and your right hand shall hold me." Just like that dad was carrying his daughter through the rain, I pictured God, holding me in his arms like any loving father would. I got to snuggle in close to my Father's presence and let him lead me and hold me. I smiled at the thought of it.
And I looked back to the girl. She wasn't fearing the rain. She wasn't walking through it alone. She was safe, covered by her Father who held her closer still. And I thought about my walk through this darkness. If I am willing to, metaphorically, snuggle up close to God who is walking through this darkness with me, it won't actually be dark. He lights up the darkness - night is bright as the day.
It's an image I can't forget. One that moves me every time I picture it. God is holding me through this tunnel and because I am leaning into him, I am surrounded by light. Let me be a daughter who leans into the holding and leading and loving of a Father who cannot bare to leave me wandering on my own.