Light for my Path

Of all the symbols of the Christmas season, I think Light is my favorite. Candles in the window and lights on the tree bring to mind those beloved words from John 1: “In Him was life, and that life was the light of men.”

These days thoughts and memories of my brother Tom are never far from my mind. I have been thinking of one summer – more than twenty-five years ago – when Mother and I visited Tom and his family out in Idaho. Tom took us on a short trip to the Sawtooth Mountains, that majestic rugged wilderness area that he so loved. I remember us all drawing up to the campfire as daylight began to fade and just sitting there soaking up the serenity and beauty around us until we could barely keep our eyes open. All of us except Tom made our way to our beds for the night.

Just as I was almost asleep a light knock came at the camper door. It was Tom. “Get up, Jack,” he whispered. “I know you will want to see this.” I stepped out, huddled in a blanket, to a night that was brilliantly alive. Never before or since have I ever witnessed a night sky so beautiful. Thousands, millions, of stars I had never seen because I had never before traveled far enough away from artificial light sources. It was easy to imagine the wonder of Abraham or of David as we traded the binoculars back and forth. It seemed we were standing on the top of the world, with just the pines towering above us, under an amazing canopy of light. I felt so small, yet so secure. “When I consider your heavens…what is man that you are mindful of him, the son of man that you care for him? [Yet] you made him a little lower than the heavenly beings and crowned him with glory and honor.”

Many years later, another trip. This time a very long one, a loop of more than 5,000 miles that took us through Nevada, the Oregon coast, Washington, Yellowstone, Montana, and the Black Hills of South Dakota before heading back home. On this day, Steve and the kids and I had left Yellowstone to see Tom and Carol. We began to appreciate the immensity of Montana as mile after mile passed with no towns. No highways, even, intersecting Interstate 90. Periodically there would be exits for “Ranch Access.” That was it. Under the big sky, off in the distance we could see dark clouds, but we never reached them. It was one of those summer evenings that seem endless in the West. Dusk held until we reached Miles City, but darkness had settled in as we found the two-lane road that would take us on the last leg of our journey.

It took a while for it to register just how dark it was. But as we drove on, it seemed strangely, eerily black. No light from oncoming traffic, for there was none. No security lights for homes or businesses. Not even an occasional light from a farmhouse, for there didn’t seem to be any. And no stars or moon, for the rain had finally reached us. Our cell phones had not been working in that part of the country for days, and we felt totally isolated and alone. If we weren’t looking forward to being with our family so much, we would never have continued down that long road.

But finally, there was a faint light in the darkness, and suddenly the car lights detected a country church on one side of the road. The light came from a Coleman lantern held by my big brother who was standing in his driveway on the other side of the highway. He had been watching for our car and had come out to guide us so that we wouldn’t pass up the house. Had we been through bad weather, he asked. Evidently we had missed the worst of it, for wind had snapped some power lines and electricity had been out all over the area for several hours.

With his Coleman lantern, warm smile, and welcoming hugs, Tom had made the night bright again for us. Under his rain poncho, he wore a tee shirt that said “Ekalaka, MT – 12 miles* End of the World – 8 miles.” It was a huge joke to him, especially since Ekalaka, MT was exactly 12 miles from his home, but I don’t know if he realized how close it had felt to the “end of the world” for me before he met us with that lantern.

Leaving the light on, waiting up for loved ones, is what our family has always done. My mother. Tom. And the source of Light, our Heavenly Father.

Sometimes, when I can get past the artificial haze that surrounds me, the Light that guides my life is brilliant and awe-inspiring, and I catch a glimpse of the “glory of the One and Only Who came from the Father.” But sometimes that Light reaches me more like Tom’s Coleman lantern, faint but steady, and the darkness can’t dispel it. Either way, the Light is precious. It guides me. It beckons me. And one day it will lead me home.