Confession XLXVI

On nights black as these I wonder how I’ll ever find God.  God way up in the clouds.  Gone past Jupiter and all the biggest of stars.  Moons orbiting stardust, dus-ting split-second light trafficking from miles away and finding me where I sit.

Sometimes light in the darkness are far away stars, but that seems like enough to get me through the night. 

I can’t imagine constantly living in the light.  I mean, that summer daylight, the kind that gives you sunburns even if you’re out for less than an hour.  I was always the kid who slept with a nightlight when I was younger.  I don’t know when I kicked that habit.  When I let go of that safety net.  When I couldn’t sleep unless it was completely dark.  And now I leave the blinds on my window open because I like the natural nightlights filling my room while I sleep. 

I like the thought of being able to find God among the stars right before my eyes shut. 

Why else are those stars way up there?  If not to let us dream of playing among them?

So I will continue to take liberty and dream of where my God is. 

Dream of finding myself among those stars.  Of finding that perpetually perfect life. 

That life that continually chooses to shine, but only for a certain time after dusk. 

The kind that masquerades around during the day hiding behind clouds and sun.

The kind that sometimes stumbles out during the last minutes of a sunset as if to say, “This is how life is meant to be.  Don’t worry.  You’ll always have some sort of light to read your books by.  No worries, okay?”  And it’s those sunset fumblings that usher in a comfort for a night easing itself into another hour of existence.

So how can I not find God among these black-black nights?

Well, it’s all that we bring into the night.  It’s those last minute conversations with an overseas love before she goes to bed.

She let out a sigh and I could hear the letdown in her voice.  I could hear the way she didn’t feel appreciated.  The way she didn’t feel loved.

And she was tired.  And she said,  “Oh...I guess I won’t be getting any Valentines card this year.”  Said it running out of breath.  Depressed.  Like a sad-ness overcome her.

And I really had no words to say back to her.  No way to comfort her.  No little white-colored lies because what was the use?  Her card would probably reach her door late.  And if I send flowers then they’re not natural.  They’re some reproduced little cyborg monsters for flowers that grow on Dr. Moreau’s island all steroided-up so the arrangement can look exactly how the advertisement posed it.

Maybe she was tired, but I thought she was going to cry.  Thought I could hear the tears.  Thought I could hear her heart.  Crying.

Into your hands I commit my spirit;

   you have redeemed me, O Lord,

            faithful God.

(Psalm 31:5)

But one thing still remains: God is faithful. 

Whether we understand God the most when we’re standing in the spotlight of day, floodlight, high-beaming drive-by highway light or whether we understand God the most when the sun’s settled in for a night on the other side of the planet; we still see his illuminating presence.  We still see his faithfulness.  We still see his redemption.  It doesn’t matter if we’re staring into the sun or staring through a pinhole in a wall.  Light will flood in to even the most remote areas of life.

That is why those far away stars at night are enough for me.  Because they’re still a light in the darkness. 

There’s still light. 

That’s it. 

So bring to the night what you will.  Bring a love separated.  Bring a cancer discovered.  Bring a great wall blocking your way back home.  And bring the everyday emotional ebb and flow.

But just know that your God is faithful.

For he has redeemed you.