It sounds delightful to be identified as a light-lover, a frolicker in all things beautiful and glowing. Sunshine and warm-lit rooms expand our souls. Something draws us to happily lit places, something safe that bids us come and welcome. Light can be the sweetest thing to perforate us, deep to our souls, to heal and to free. But it’s a shocking sort of glory.
Real light is seen in the Messiah, the world’s Light, and we fell stunned at his blistering goodness when he embodied it to us. No smothering or death could make him flicker, though. And still, he saves through drawing out of darkness into light. His marvelous light.
And helps us to love it. Because on our own, we do not.
We do not run to things that out-glory the moon and make the sun bow in shame.
We do not dance in the truth of our dust and brokenness and need.
And even when the the deepest deeps of our souls are laid bare,
we do not dare believe that he loves us. Yes, even then.
It is in His light that we see light, and ever find it lovely.
And while many things in these shadows remain to be seen and undone, darkness is dying with all else that could never stand in his way when he says:
“I AM he who makes all things new. I AM light, and you are mine.”