Follow the Light

Follow the Light

My girls and I had spent most of the day cooped up in the house. Attitudes were fraying around the edges—including mine. Then I had an epiphany: a pajama hike!

I told the girls to put on their pajamas, since it was close to bedtime anyway, and then I fed their arms into matching coats and zipped the coats up. My husband supplied me with a high-powered flashlight, and I put the baby in the carrier. Together, we stepped outside.

The wind had picked up, howling down the unfolding hills. Leftover fall leaves, the size of shoes, hopscotched across the grass. The stars were covered in a miasma of clouds. It was magical and wild. That uncanned air made me breathe deep. My head began to clear from all the girlish squabbles that had crowded it.

“Let’s go!” I cried, holding up the flashlight beam like a crusader’s torch. The baby tucked her head against my chest. My six-year-old and my four-year-old huddled against me.

The four-year-old said, “I’m scared.”

“Don’t be scared,” I said. “Your eyes will adjust.”

But then the six-year-old echoed her sister’s fear. They kept glancing over their shoulders toward the house, as if gauging how fast they could run to the safety of the patio’s French doors: a promising rectangle of light.

I pointed the flashlight down at the grass, and my four-year-old let go of me. She tried walking inside of the beam, but she kept walking too fast, back into the darkness that frightened her.

“Come here!” I called, as it began to rain. “Follow the light. Don’t try to walk in front of it.”

She darted back. Her blue coat hood slid off, and her pale hair nearly glowed.

Together, my three girls and I walked for another few yards, but as the drizzling continued, the four-year-old took off like a shot, back to the house. My six-year-old soon asked if she could go back, too, so I walked her across the yard and pulled open the French door.

I rolled my eyes at my husband. “Well, that lasted all of two seconds.”

But I was still thirsty for that fresh air, for that satiating wind, so I went back outside, making sure to cover the baby’s head from the rain. I held the flashlight beam out in front of me, and I walked behind it. The circle illuminated the grass and trees like a concentrated sun, but everything around it remained black. The trees protested against the wind. I could hear the flooded creek rushing past. It was the setting for a Southern Gothic novel. I admit that I became a little spooked, but I forced myself to stop it.

And then, I remembered that image of my four-year-old daughter trying to walk in front of the flashlight beam rather than behind it. I do the same. Time and time again, I try to walk ahead of God’s plans, so I can know what’s ahead for our family. I keep my eyes too focused on what I cannot see rather than on the Light, and the fear crowds in until I am forced to tuck my tail and run back to the safety of the familiar. But if I keep my gaze focused on that Light, on that illuminating circle of clear vision, I am not afraid. I can live a radical, faith-filled journey while confident that each step will be illuminated for me if I just continue to walk.

How are you going to walk out your faith this week?

Upsplash image by Rohan Makhecha