Devotions for Teachers: Transferrable Light
Whenever we go to a car wash, my 10-month-old panics. The water starts to hit the windows, and she whimpers. We, as a family, make every effort to help her stay calm. We smile at her, call her name, rub her face, hold her little hands, sing to her, make silly faces to distract her…but ultimately nothing works. She keeps her eyes glued to those car windows.
As soon as we reach the point where the big, dangling sponges start slapping against the windows, we’ve lost her. She’s scared. She’s crying. Her eyes are wide in fear and spilling over with tears.
If I call her name loudly enough, I can sometimes break the spell. She will see me, and a wave of relief will wash over her little face. But it never lasts. After a second or two, some loud noise from the car wash will pull her eyes away. She will see the darkness and the water spraying against the windows. She’s back to feeling sheer panic.
This past week, in the wake of yet another mass shooting, I felt a whole lot like a 10-month-old in a car wash. The darkness covered me. I felt panicked. The world around me was terrifying and foreign when just a minute ago I could have sworn I recognized my surroundings.
And I know Jesus was calling my name. But I refused to look.
I let myself sink deep this week. I spent hours of my time mourning those children and grieving for their families. I called state legislators and left shaky messages begging them to consider crossing the aisle on just this one issue to honor the many, many, too many families who have lost children to gun violence. I got in fights with people I love dearly who didn’t believe that a new law or two would actually stop any of the madness. I clung tight to the idea that resigning ourselves to the idea that nothing can be done is far worse than doing something small.
I still believe that last part, by the way. But my approach was off.
I didn’t pray once. I didn’t open my Bible once. I didn’t sit and wait to hear His voice once.
Three days after the news broke, I remembered God. I tried to pray. The prayers looked a whole lot like angry tears. But I actually believe that He understands those prayers just fine. The word laid on my heart was simply ‘light’.
Light is so significant in the Christian faith. God’s love and protection are described as ‘light in the darkness’ dozens of times throughout scripture. The thing that is challenging about His light is that the world’s darkness works so hard to hide it. And when it does, we let our own light become dim in the process.
But God’s light is transferrable.
When He shines it on you, you glow. You cast that light on others. When they walk away from a conversation with you, they feel a little more healed than they did before. Not because you beat them over the head with your faith, but because you emulated God’s love and goodness right there in human form. Just a tiny bit of it. And it doesn’t take much of God’s light to reach a person who is lost in the dark.
Think about a candle in a dark room. All of the lights are off, and it’s nighttime. The room is pitch black. You light a single candle, and you can see. There is far more darkness than light in the room, but light wins. It always wins. And we are called to be the candles.
5 This is the message we have heard from him and declare to you: God is light; in him there is no darkness at all. 6 If we claim to have fellowship with him and yet walk in the darkness, we lie and do not live out the truth. 7 But if we walk in the light, as he is in the light, we have fellowship with one another, and the blood of Jesus, his Son, purifies us from all sin. 8 If we claim to be without sin, we deceive ourselves and the truth is not in us.
1 John 1: 5-8
We all know that the issues surrounding these mass shootings are an intricate web of brokenness. There are many “next right steps'“ we can all be taking right now, and it’s so important that we don’t lessen one believer’s form of action-taking in comparison to our own. Want to call your Senators and demand change? That’s ok. Want to sit, grieve, and pray? That’s ok, too. Want to donate funds to the families affected? That’s ok, too. All are a form of action.
The kind of action we need most, however, is light-spreading. Prayer is powerful. I believe in it. But prayer only in isolation, when our neighbors are clearly drowning in the darkness is not the way Jesus intended. After a week of letting myself sit in the grief and pain, alone, this is where I’ve landed:
God is love.
God mourns when we mourn.
God wants us to live differently.
God wants the young men who choose violence and destruction to be saved. He loves them, too. His heart is broken for them as much as for the innocent victims.
God has called you (and me) to be His hands and feet. That means shining his light everywhere we go.
We can’t waste any more time.
As we move into summer, and we are free of our usual, daily grind, let’s take time to open our eyes. What corners of your community need light? Which neighbors do you pass every day but know nothing about? Which kids in your classroom could a simple postcard over the summer be that reminder that they are still cared for? Which of your own children’s friends could use a listening ear? (I’m asking myself these questions as much as I’m hypothetically asking all of you.)
Where is the darkness compounded in your corner of the world? It’s time to show up and be the light. There is no such thing as “too small” when it comes to sharing God’s love. All it takes is a tiny flame, and it’s capable of swallowing up a whole lot of darkness.
Praying for each of you this week. Praying for our country. Praying for our world. Praying for our children.
