The darkness, it just consumes you. Standing there alone, you are paralyzed by the fear. You’re scared of the night, the cold, the ruthlessness of Alaska. And what’s remarkable is even though it’s only a few degrees above freezing, you’re chilled to the bone. Couple that with the thrill of the evening’s stillness and the uncertainty of what’s out there, and you find yourself shaking uncontrollably. And then you look up.
You see the colors, the stars, the clarity of the night sky and you recognize above all else – the insignificance and smallness of yourself. And you realize what our Creator has made just for us.
At first you fixate on the stars, because they are so clear and bright. Then you see the wisps, almost cotton candy-like, where at first you think it’s a cloud, but then you realize clouds don’t move like that. Clouds don’t have the color or the intensity or the magnificence of what’s happening before your eyes.
I’m standing there, looking to the heavens, and pondering my Dad. “He would have loved Alaska,” I remind myself. The tears, they start to well up. And then the harmonica starts playing at the shoreline. A stranger’s small act, unbeknownst to him, became the perfect tribute – complete with nature’s fireworks. And the lights – as if in sync with the melody – start moving with such veracity, like they are guided by a maestro full of passion and love, adoration and rapture.
And right when you feel so insignificant, so meaningless, you are comforted in knowing those lights are dancing for you.
I had been consumed with racing thoughts about life and lost love and forgiveness and hope, and those heavy hot tears… they fell. And then warmth shrouded me, the fear was gone, the cold was soothed, and hope restored.
A stirring belief overtook me, ached me to the core. I finally understood. I am not insignificant. Within the darkness, there is light and I'm not alone.