Let the light shine

               When I taught at a community college in St. Louis, I wrote a quote on the blackboard every class period.  Usually, I didn’t even mention the quote during class, but I saw some students write down the words of encouragement to keep.  Every January, I shared these words of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

“Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that.  Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.”

A dark room becomes light when a source of light like an open door, drives out the darkness—simply, quietly.

               We mere mortals at times seem to be drawn to reacting to darkness in its nonliteral sense emotionally.  Unkind words, things done purposely to be hateful can tempt us to respond in hateful ways ourselves, just adding to the darkness.  The way of Christ, however, the light of the world, is to respond in love, thus allowing light and an opportunity for that kindness to make the darkness just a little lighter.

               My husband Jim was a great doer of good, a vessel of light and life, during the 69 years he lived, 47 of which I knew and loved him.  There was not one day that I doubted his love for me.  He was truly passionate about spreading love and light wherever he was, sometimes in very funny and creative ways.  He actually did spread “fake news” when he started having “fake news conferences” to liven up a county office where he started working after retiring from teaching physical education and coaching track and cross country.  He pretended to be the county supervisor and made up funny “news” to broadcast through his fake microphones.  A new friend made in the last two years living in Charleston, Illinois, shared that his passing on August 15^th “made the light a little dimmer in the world.”

               We all have choices as we live out our lives.  Will we add to the darkness around us, the hate that can come against us, or will we choose to offer light in a world in such need of it.  Jesus would have us let His light shine through us as it did through Jim.

Remembering Daniel this August

                August has been the “month of Daniel” since 1977, but this year,  I have thought of it through the words of Charles Dickens: “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times . . . it was the season of light, it was the season of Darkness . . . “ (A Tale of Two Cities).  August that year moved from one extreme to another, at times so quickly.

               That August, 1977, my husband Jim, Daniel and I had survived difficult days, and I would give the power of God and answered prayer much credit.  Daniel was almost at the 28^th week mark, the doctor’s goal during the weeks filled with “the worst of times,” including what should have been a miscarriage at about 11 weeks and a threateningly early arrival in the hospital where I spent a night in labor and delivery around his 21^st week.  Amazingly, he hung on—we all did—until a late Thursday afternoon on August 11, right at 28 weeks.  He weighed in at 3 lbs. 13 ounces.

               I only saw him briefly that night before he was taken to Children’s Hospital since he had life-threatening lung issues.  A weekly Thursday night prayer meeting I often attended lifted him up that Thursday night.  The next day my pediatrician told me, “Last night I wasn’t sure he would make it out of the woods, but today he is doing so well.”  With delight, my brother brought a birthday cake to the hospital, celebrating what felt like the best of times. 

But the celebration was short-lived.  After I got released from the hospital, baby Daniel aspirated just as we arrived to visit him.  There were no good days after this, only crisis-ridden time with him.  He had emergency abdominal surgery complicated by pneumonia as he fought to recover.  The last two days of his life his little body was so swollen and distorted a nurse told us, “I’m so sorry you have to see him like this.”  Meningitis was discovered during the autopsy, the final blow to steal his chance to come home to join our family.   

Today, 40 years later, we will celebrate his life, brief but a tribute to God’s power and love to keep His children through days of danger and the threat of despair.  We will be forever thankful for the powerful comfort of His Holy Spirit, comfort we can now share with others.  Curiously, Daniel died on a Sunday night; about 2 ½ years later, our healthy, full term son David Daniel entered the world before 6 am on a cold Sunday morning in March with spring just around the corner.