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The Light That Was Never Mine
Moments of Story, Moments With God
There was a man sent from God, whose name was John.
The same came for a witness, to bear witness of the Light,
that all men through him might believe.
He was not that Light, but was sent to bear witness of that Light.
John 1:6-8
He dreamt he was walking in a desert.
The sky hung gray and heavy, promising rain but it would never come. The land stretched endlessly in every direction; dry, dusty and harsh.
He was not alone. Countless others walked beside him.
Yet not everyone walked the same way.
Some moved forward with joy, their faces lit with gratitude. Others wore frowns, their features etched with anxiety, anger or self-pity.
Others were weary, some nearly collapsing from exhaustion. A few refused to walk at all. They sank into the dust and remained there, as if nothing mattered.
But he was not among them. He knew he had to keep walking.
Straight ahead.
He could drift to the right or the left. He could even turn back for a while. But that would not be the way. The way was forward.
The strangest of all were the lights.
Each traveler emitted a glow as they walked. Strange lights indeed. They were shining in many colors, yet nearly every one of them flawed.
There were reds and greens, dulled as though their brilliance had been mixed with ash. Other colors carried faint shadows within them, as if darkness had seeped into the light itself.
Lights of every hue appeared along the path and yet, each bore its own defect. Even yellow, meant to be warm and comforting, felt cold as ice.
On and on it went. These lights were supposed to guide the travelers on their way, but because of their defects they marked the path before them in deceptive ways. Men and women stumbled and fell, causing weeping and wailing and a great deal of confusion.
But not all lights were corrupted.
Some shone clear, whole, bright as the morning sun, yet gentle to the eyes. Warm and pure.
These were beacons of hope.
They did not distort the road; they revealed it. They pointed straight ahead and quietly warned of potholes and hidden cracks.
And in his dream, he carried such a light.
His light was not tainted.
It shone with a clear, holy brilliance.
At its center burned a small red glow, like a single drop of blood. From it radiated a warmth that spread to all who walked close beside him. Some who had stumbled, drawn by its warmth, stepped into his light and got up again.
There was joy.
And yet a strange thing happened. At one point, in his dream, pride got the better of him. Seeing how his light meant blessings to others, something shifted. He began to glory in his own importance.
Instantly, the hue of his light changed. No longer did it sparkle with purity, but it became painfully bright so it blinded others. The small red glow disappeared and his light made them stumble even more.
A chill ran through him.
Was he going to fall too?
But he knew a way out. He humbled himself. He confessed. He prayed.
Lord, forgive me.
Instantly the light took on its calm, wonderful guiding glow again.
Then, another prayer formed on his lips.
Lord, let me be an instrument of Your peace, to bring light where there’s darkness. Let me ever point to You.
He cried tears of compassion.
They were the tears of God, shed for everyone crossing the desert.
That’s when he woke.
The sun already stood high in the sky.
Though troubled by the dream, he rose with quiet resolve. Today he would walk carefully. Today he would shine, but not with his own light.
He needed to decrease so that Another might increase. Not his brilliance. Not his importance. Only heaven’s light.
He bowed his head and prayed.
“Lord, let it be Your light. Never mine.”