I stare at the moon as it looms large over the ridge behind my house. The nights are darker now, and I see it better. Closer.
Immediately, I am transported into yet another moment of grace, another moment of sight: perhaps this is true of most of life. You cannot fully see the light until you've felt the darkness, cannot know or appreciate the alive until you've experienced the dead. Like the sun in the day or the moon at night, the light is always present. But perhaps in the chilling darkness...in the moments when the black hangs heavy...perhaps this is when we come to see. Perhaps this is when we start to believe. Because we suddenly find that we cannot trust ourselves. We cannot navigate our own way. We must rely on the light to guide us. Maybe more than ever before, we become thankful that it exists. That He exists. His light is with us always. It illuminates our darkness, penetrates our despair, offers us hope within the shadows.
The moon hangs there in the radiant beauty. Placed in the sky by the creative hands of the Maker who also made me. Its beams seem to shine right through me. I take in its light, and I thank - I smile - because the Light is always around. It is forever. And I see that, in every darkness, He will shine the brighter.