A Reflection

     Watching the sunrise, sitting on the swing up at Long Lake, made me think again of the parallel between night and day, and the life span of a human being. I was thinking about my life so far. I am forty-six years old now, and in one way I feel like I have learned a lot about life, and yet in another way, I feel there is so much more to learn. But it’s not knowledge that I’m talking about – at least not of things or even concepts, or physical realities…it’s who Jesus is.      Who is Jesus? What difference does He make in my life at this point in time? How does He act in my life, my heart? How has He sent His Holy Spirit to animate my soul? Have I grasped – even a little – how He chooses to teach me? How He leads me? How He empowers me?      And what about my responses? Have I been teachable? Am I now? Have I chosen to allow His light to illuminate my soul? Do I prefer shadows?      It strikes me that my life is something like the day. Once, I lived in darkness, where behind the closed and locked door of my heart I lay in fear, only cracking the door a bit at a time. When I would see light on the other side, not knowing or understanding it, although intrigued, I would shut the door again. I felt safer in the darkness – scary and lonely though it was – because I at least knew it. What was that light? What if I opened the door and the light chose to flee to some other place. Could I expand my horizon without fearing light’s imposition?      As I reflect back, I think that Jesus – the Light – beckoned me. Did He run up, yank the door to my heart open and demand I step out? Did He intimidate me with scoffing, saying to me, “I can’t believe you would choose to remain there! What a poor choice!” Did He mope? Whine? Plead? “Please come out! I promise not to cause you pain…won’t you be my friend? I need you!” No, what did He do? How did He beckon? He was patient. He waited. He loved. He never left. When I opened the door, the light was always there. Soft! Gentle. Wooing. Peaceful. Available.      When the dark and the loneliness threatened to overcome me, I remembered those shafts of light I had allowed myself to peek at, and wondered if there I might find a friend. The fear of the unknown was now lesser than the fear of remaining alone. I decided to open the door just a bit more.      This point in my life reminds me of the beginning of the sunrise. As the sun peeks its head above the horizon, many shadows appear that weren’t visible before. They are enveloped in burning reds, oranges, golds, yellows. This reminds me of my first attempts to walk through the door – to purposefully step from dark to light. I prayed, “Lord, if you are there, if you do indeed exist, then I want to try to follow you. I want you to be ‘in the driver’s seat of my life. Help me to do this.’ A brief prayer, not filled with much faith or expectation, but with a glimmer of hope.      Once the sun begins to rise, it swiftly and completely changes the landscape of the sky. At first, more shadows appear, and long, knotted, twisting clouds try to block the sun. This morning’s sunrise seemed almost blocked by them. This reminded me of my first walk, my first steps with Jesus in the driver’s seat. Suddenly, I could see the darkness with clarity. There wasn’t just fear and loneliness there. There was sin. A lack of love. Pride. Selfishness. And more. I learned during this time to recognize sin. To name it and repent of it. To trust that this light, though it “caused pain” was a cleansing fire, a purifying flame. Along with this, though, came a desire to return love to the Father. To thank Him for His Son and to thank them for their Spirit. It was a zealous time. Life seemed so “black and white”. “Zeal for my Father’s house consumed me.” I was willing to endure pain – emotional, psychological, sometimes even physical, because the light was so incredibly powerful, yet so gentle, that it was almost surreal to watch the shadows disperse. Like this point of the sunrise, it was swift yet furious. Moving fast, yet softly dispelling the many shadows that had suddenly appeared.      I learned to love the light. I learned to trust the light. And my response was strong, zealous, burning, if you will. Suddenly, almost without warning, I find myself in the daylight. Shadows are weak, some far off in the distance and light is all around me. This reminds me of this stage of my life. I’m comfortable walking in the daylight. It’s “nice.” It’s gentle, safe, pretty, calm. I’ve learned a little about love – more about my lack of it. I’ve learned a little about the source of the light, although often I think I’m too comfortable with such limited understanding.      I know that Jesus loves me. I experience His love. I see His hand operating in the many facets of my life. My zeal has become more internal than external, yet it is there. When storms threaten, and the shadows are many, I know where the shelter, the haven, can be found. Jesus, in His great mercy has left His Church behind here on earth. He Himself, present to me in the Eucharist, is here. Waiting to be received. His Spirit is here. Indeed through some great mystery, the Trinity dwells within me. I am safe. Secure. Peace-filled. Hopeful. Quiet. Meditative. Reflective.      Sometimes I see storms on the horizon. I hear the Lord call me. “Go to those places and bring my peace. My light. Be my hands and my feet. Be my ears. Listen to them. Love them. Help them to know my calm, my peace, my hope.” Yet I do not want to move. After all, I’m comfortable. Who wants storms over calm, beautiful, peaceful daylight? Am I again fearing? Am I wanting to drive my own life, thank you very much? Am I now preferring daylight over storms? Even when Jesus is in the eye and beckoning?      I don’t know where Jesus will lead me, but this I do know. I know that without His grace, I would turn and run back to my dark and lonely shelter! I need Him for every step, every phase of my life. And He is there. You see, He won’t push me into the storms that He wants me to experience. He won’t demand I go. He won’t whine and complain, “Therese, why won’t you go? Please?” He won’t intimidate me into going. He will be with me the entire time. He will lead, and I will follow.      Someday, another darkness will come, like the setting of the sun. Death will come. But I know that a new dawn will arise, and it will be an everlasting day!