Treasures In The Dark

Lately, I've been spending a lot of time looking at the moon. It's been so unusually beautiful. As the days grow longer and the sun sets later and later, there's a gorgeous blue-twilight in the sky around 11pm, causing the moon and Venus to appear silhouetted against it's highlighted background, a few twinkling stars appearing around it. The moon is a sliver but it's presence is pulling me into a holy moment. These clear nights give me chance to see it, and I'm at the window to greet it just about every evening. This new-found moon-watching came about because of a recent read...and a scripture that's kind of changed everything for me.

Somehow, I've never noticed this gem of a verse until now. This book brought it to my attention, and now I'm clinging to it like a long-awaited promise, seeing it put much of my life into view. Digging into the bound pages a few weeks ago, they were the first words of the introduction - a passage buried in the book of Isaiah that set the tone for the rest of the chapters to come. And why did I never see it before? And if I did, how did I ever miss so great a truth? 

The heart-eyes can be blind oftentimes to the very things in front of it. If we only could see...

The statement leaps out at me with all the force of a life-changing thought just waiting to be discovered:

"I will give you the treasures of darkness and riches

hidden in secret places, so that you may know that it is I,

the Lord, the God of Israel, who call you by your name."

(Isaiah 45:3)

God calls to us in hidden, secret places. There are treasures to be discovered in the darkness and not all His revelations happen in the readily-evident. Somehow, I've known this in my soul-depths for awhile but never felt such belief in it's existence until now. In the pages that follow in this book, the author puts forth a message that I'm suddenly resonating with, agreeing in full as I see my own life being spelled out in front of me. Almost like her own experience mirrors that of my own. 

She describes her love-hate relationship with darkness. How, as a child, she was terrified of the physical dark and wouldn't understand until much later in life that she was afraid of her soul-dark, too. And she tells of how our culture and our churches are obsessed with banishing darkness, that we rule all dark as bad, acting on the premise that all deserve to walk in light all the time. That one must avoid the shadows if at all possible. And Christ followers have taken up this idea and run with it pure wild, driving home the point that if you know Jesus, all your soul-nights will be bright as day because, "in Him is no darkness at all," right? 

She worked in church ministry for years and could never quite understand why this message didn't sit well with her. Didn't reflect her own life. And she set on a personal quest to seek whether the physical dark as well as the soul-dark had anything to teach her. Could it be that not all darkness was worth getting rid of? That God is equally as present and active in the obscured, the hidden, the hard, as He is in the daylight?

We have one word in English for "darkness." The Hebrew has three. So read your Bible and see it talk about darkness and you have to dig and discover that it could be the darkness of sin and evil, it could be the physical darkness in creation, or it could simply be the light-obscured. "Aaraphel" darkness, to be exact. The foggy-hidden that causes one to look for treasures and riches in secret places. "Evidence of things not-seen." Could this be what it really means to hope?

The author came to the conclusion that two points of view largely exist: 1) that people, believers in particular, are supposed to stay in the light of God around the clock, appreciating and reflecting the benefits of the sunny side of faith. She termed it "full solar" perspective. The proponents of this point of view (and they are many) suggest that positive attitude, firm conviction, and unwavering faith are all signs of living in the Light and that, should you find yourself in the dark, it is your own fault for being there. "Just have more faith," they say. "Pray harder!" "Read your Bible more!" Everything centers around the unspoken idea that one should attempt to get out of the shadows as soon as possible because that's not where God is and you shouldn't be there either.

Yet she began to wonder about the second point of view 2) that there is also such a thing as "lunar" perspective: a kind of divine light that grows and fades with the season. A light all the same yet a light seen differently. As the moon moves through its varying phases, sometimes it is big, bold, and bright and, other times, it is small, thin, and hard to see. Sometimes it is completely gone, leaving only the stars to light the night sky. She thought of all the times the "full solar" people had tried to call her out of the dark places in her soul and tell her she should just get over into the light and all would be right again. So many times, she'd wished it was that easy. She'd have given anything to share their optimistic point of view. But somehow, her spiritual vision, her gifts had seemed to reflect more the "lunar" view. She asked herself what would happen if she stopped seeing all these fluctuations as indications that something was internally wrong with her and, instead, began to move with the darkness rather than opposing it. And thus, she began a journey which she chronicled in this book, of how she came to the conclusion that God was at work in both the light and the dark and that, in order to have a full existence, one must have their share of both. To want all light and no darkness is to only live half a life.

God is the sun to our soul-system, absent of any spiritual-dark and making all brilliant-light. But while the sun is always shining, it isn't always evident. Sometimes clouds hide it. Or at night after it has set, the moon must reflect its rays in order to illuminate the darkness. Even then, as the moon moves through its phases, there are times when even the moon is hidden and the stars must shine alone. God is always present, always shining. But sometimes He is hidden and the dark must reveal a side of Him we can only see in the soul's night. 

There is no sin-darkness in God and this we know well. But He also states that He is the God who forms light and creates darkness (Isaiah 45:7) and somehow He has a place for the dark of suffering in our lives - a role for the light disguised to play in our redemption. So maybe we've missed something wildly true and transformative by assuming that all dark is bad. 

 

As I read, I picture two sides of a street: Sunny Lane on one side and Shadow Drive on the other. Our world makes up both sides of the street. Many people take residence on both places. But often, the residents of Shadow Drive pay a dear price for the insecurities of the residents on Sunny Lane because those on Sunny Lane are convinced that you can only see God in the daylight and that true happiness is found in all the colors, celebration, and joy of their neighborhood. Those on Shadow Drive who actually have equally as compelling and beautiful a view, are continually guilted into feeling bad for living where they do. They are called to from across the street and told to come over into the light, never thinking that those who see God at night don't see Him any less but just in a different way. 

Only see life your way and you maybe never get around to seeing life HIS way and you become ignorant of the many ways in which He is working outside of your own view. 

The author said one of the things that convinced her that to walk in the dark was perhaps the secret to her soul's peace was that God did many things in Scripture at night. Whether it was speaking to people in dreams like Daniel, calling Abraham outside to gaze at the stars in order to give him the generational prophesy, Jacob wrestling with the angel, or even announcing to the shepherds the birth of our Lord, God wasn't just active in full visibility during the day-time. And just how might it change things if we opened our minds to the fact that the shadows are worthy of being befriended? That God might come to us in the dark the same (or to some, more so) than in the broad sunshine?

Looking back, I see a little girl that was me: always running from the physical dark and trying to escape the soul-dark, too. Like the author, fighting to trust when I couldn't rely on what I could see. When simply turning on a light didn't solve anything, I struggled to breathe. Struggled to gain night-vision when it all just looked black and felt scary. But God...

Suddenly, I'm seeing much of my life put into perspective. I am a "lunar" person trying to function in a "full solar" world. Long ago, I ruled out the option that the darkness was my fault. I did not choose this path. Did not want it. Have long asked for it to leave. I know that I did not willfully bring the shadows on myself. Did not sin or trod in evil places to warrant this way. If I had, I should rightfully have tried to move toward the light as soon as possible. But, as in many cases in this life, the darkness just descended. I simply found myself there. I've long been a resident on Shadow Drive, trying to figure out how to justify my being there to the residents across the street, trying to tell them that I still believe, I still hope...just not the same as them. Wishing they would find the courage to come and star-gaze, moon-gaze at night or watch the sun filter through tree-leaves and notice Grace still present. Hoping they could catch a glimpse of the God I've discovered in the soul-shadows. A God found in the quiet stillness who guides me to places where I've found treasures in the dark. As Charles Spurgeon, the Prince of Preachers and himself a sufferer of chronic depression, once said, "I am certain that I have seen more in the dark than I ever saw in the light - more stars, most certainly - more things in heaven if fewer things on earth." 

With this revelation, I have become absolved of the guilt that's burdened me for so long. I know my story, and I know that partly what I'm here on this earth to do is attempt to describe what it's like to learn to look for light obscured. To walk by faith and not by sight when the pitch-black blinds you to the point of panic. To battle your fears of shutting out when God is asking you to let in. To step out into the unknown where Jesus is, holding out a sure hand to guide you and asking you to simply trust Him. The darkness has proven to be more of a teacher to me than the light ever could. I have discovered more of God in the soul's nighttime than I ever did in the daylight, and I will graciously stand by that until the day I die. I know it to be true.

While I would love with everything inside me to have the whole world see the view from my side of the street, I am also realistic that, in all likelihood, I won't be having a party at my street address any time soon. Only those brave enough to choose to come and see, will. Either those already living on the same side who are seeking riches in secret places or those who live on the sunny side and want to learn what we see. The crowd will be small yet meaningful.

I am thankful for the all the friends I've made here on Shadow Drive. They've become so special. We've cried together and pointed out all the beautiful things we've discovered in the hard days of our journey. There's a language we can speak, and I'm grateful for that. We stick together because we know what it's like. And if you've been one of the few who walked across the street and stayed for more than five minutes, didn't try to beg me to come over to the sunny side, didn't try to offer an answer for my sorrows, didn't slap a smiley-face band-aid on an open wound and tell me everything was fine again, didn't try to banish my darkness but simply let me know you were sorry it was so black, thank you. Thank you for instead coming over to try to take in my view. For listening to me share about light obscured. For telling me that Shadow Drive still holds its own beauty. 

If you're still over on Sunny Lane, calling to me from across the street and trying to get me to take up residence in a place I don't belong, please know I don't want to push you away. I just know your neighborhood is merely a visiting place, not a home. I know it's uncomfortable for you that I am hurting and that you'd like to see me return to better days as soon as possible. I hope you get that I do my best to come over and celebrate the birthday parties, the baby showers, the weddings, the anniversaries. I like my share of joy and, believe me, I appreciate the light more because I know what it's like to have it hidden. After all, living physically in a place where I know all light and all dark, I've come to value contrast. But I cannot deny that the dark has been what's shaped me and likely will continue to shape me. Suffering has proven to be the forge in which my faith has been formed. And, with every walk I've taken in the dark, I've gained courage for the next time I'm asked to do it again. The greatest gift you can give to me and my friends on Shadow Drive is the permission to be there for as long as I need to, not making me feel guilty or embarrassed for being where I am. 

If you're joining those of us on Shadow Drive, welcome. You have our full permission to come here and heal. To find a God who is there in the darkness as much as in the light. A God who will meet you where you are and be Himself for you in the soul-nights. Together, we will plumb the treasures and hidden riches of this space and will discover what it means to trust God even when He feels the most absent. To hope even when despair seems like an easier option. We will survive and we will grow. We will become our own light in a world that thinks the darkness has nothing to offer. 

My mom asks if I want to walk outside tonight. I say yes. Not because the dark still doesn't scare me but because I just might find something worth noticing out there. There are no stars, but that doesn't mean they don't exist. Clouds hide the moon, but it is still there. Even in the day, both exist even when you can't see them. So too, does God. But certain things only cast their full brilliance at night. I'm choosing not to miss them when they do.