Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. Hebrews 11:1
A few days ago, I decided I would tackle raking the leaves out on the lawn since the neighbors had cleaned up theirs and theirs would no longer be blowing into our yard. I embarked on the task with unexpected energy, sending great piles into the air with every whisk of the rake, onward toward the driveway and the downhill slope beyond. With Christmas music drowning out all other sounds in my ears, I continued on for a couple of hours. December days are short, however, and before long I was working in the dark with an occasional flicker from the solar motion detector light that hadn’t received much charge that cloudy day anyway. I could still see the mound in front of me, and I continued to maneuver the pile down the hill, though it seemed to just keep multiplying the further I went.
Once I’d lost all daylight, it didn’t really matter how dark it became…
It struck me there in the darkness that although the details of the landscape were lost to me, I still had a general sense of direction. Though a few rogue leaves escaped my swinging rake, the vast majority were caught up together in the journey down the hill. I kept thinking, “Just a little bit longer…” Once I’d lost all daylight, it didn’t really matter how dark it became; I had seen the goal when it was still lit up, and the memory kept me on the path.
…a prolific lack of confidence and a grain of hope that there’s something solid under my feet…
It seems that when I step out in the darkness, it’s usually with a prolific lack of confidence and a grain of hope that there’s something solid under my feet. I can’t always tell where the path is going, but I have a sense of direction, and just enough faith to keep putting one foot ahead of the other. The details are typically vague and often irrelevant to the overall goal, so I usually have to let those go and fall where they will. It sometimes helps to drown out all other noise with music–not always Christmas music, but pertinent to the season I’m in. I’ve gotten used to raking in the dark, walking in the dark, and sometimes dancing in the dark. Again, it doesn’t matter how dark it is; I still know where I stand.
For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known. 1 Corinthians 13:12