Darkness . . .

"You can see it better if you don't look right at it."

I'll never forget that night.  I was laying on my back in a driveway in New Sharon, Iowa with my hands behind my head, protecting it from the hard concrete, and my feet stretched out so my calves and heels rested comfortably on the cold pavement.  It was like a scene from a movie.  I was captivated.  I was mesmerized.  I felt so incredibly small, yet that smallness was exhilarating.  I was looking at the night sky.  I was gazing at the stars.  

I had never really seen the stars before.  I thought I had.  But as I laid there and gazed into the endless abyss that is the Iowa night sky, it became apparent to me that what I thought I had seen before was actually only a micro chasm of what was really there.   You see, that night the stars looked as if they were falling on me.  They were so close that I felt I could reach out and touch them.  I felt like the stars were no longer so far away, but that I was a part of their setting.  It was truly amazing.  For the first time I saw that the night sky had layers.  There were clusters of stars that I literally had never seen before.  It was like sitting directly under billions of large fireworks on the 4th of July, which had all exploded at the same time, and were falling down around me.  I was trying to make sense of it.  Why could I see so clearly this particular night?

My good friend, Michael, wasn't so impressed.  This was his parent's house and growing up on a farm in this particular part of Iowa he was accustomed to seeing the sky in this fashion.  In fact, although he'll probably remember me being home with him for a week following the end of my sophomore year in college, he may not even remember this night because he had seen this before.  "It's the lights," he said.  "There's no big city lights drowning out the darkness.  You can see the light better because the sky is so dark.  This is how it always looks on a clear night here."  

If that's how it always looks then I may retire in Iowa.  

I began pointing out clusters of stars to him that I remember studying about in science, but had never seen so clearly in real life.  One of those constellations is called "Seven Sisters."  There may be a more technical name for it, but it's a cluster of seven stars that are fairly close together.  I could see that cluster of stars, but I was having a hard time seeing each star individually.  

"You can see better if you don't look right at it," Michael said.  

It made zero sense.  How could you see something better if you don't look at it.  But I tried it anyway.  I fixed my gaze in the darkness just to the right of that cluster of stars.  Sure enough, as I looked into the darkness and away from the stars, they somehow came into focus.  Instead of seeing the Seven Sisters as one cluster I could now see them as seven individual stars.  Now, I don't know the physiology or anatomy involved with vision to know why it works that way, I just know that it worked.  

I'll never forget the feeling of seeing something so clearly for the first time.  That night was brought back to my memory recently.  It's been over three weeks now since Thomas passed away unexpectedly.  During those few weeks there have been many memories that have come to mind.  It's been an incredibly dark time.  Some of the darkest times have been those moments when I simply am unable to look away from the darkness.  The memories etched in my mind are oftentimes more than I can bear . . .  

Finding him unresponsive, signaling for Amy to come, trying to keep the other kids from seeing, calling 911, doing CPR, being unsuccessful, being relieved by the paramedics, riding to the hospital, being ushered into a room, being told "I'm sorry," holding his lifeless body, telling our kids, leaving him at the hospital, planning a funeral, choosing a plot for his burial, choosing a casket, saying good-bye following the funeral, riding to the gravesite, leaving him again, choosing a head stone, visiting his grave and trying to make sense of it all.  

I could write a book on each one of these experiences in the dark.  Each aspect is full of so many emotions.  Each moment is horrible.  Put them all together and it's almost too much to comprehend.  It would be easier to simply look away from the darkness.

Yet, by gazing into the darkness we have begun to see the light much more clearly.  We have experienced His abiding presence in ways we had never experienced before.  We thought God was with us before this, but we know now what it truly means to have God walking with us and carrying us through.  He is here in our midst.  He is the light in the darkness.  The light is becoming easier to see.  At a time when we could simply waste away and be lost in the darkness, God is giving us the strength and understanding to use the darkness in order to help us see the light more clearly.  

We're trying to see it.  Can you see it?