a light in the darkness

At the triennial deacons’ assembly last week in Williamsburg, what was meant to be an outdoor liturgy got moved inside because dangerously violent storms were predicted. The sky was still a hazy blue at 4 p.m. when the service began, but a few minutes into the Rt. Rev. Carol Gallagher's homily, the sky blackened and roared as trees outside the window bent sideways, then bowed to the ground. Torrents of rain suddenly threw themselves against the windows.

Then the lights went out.

Undeterred, the bishop finished her homily in the dark as the storm raged on, then invited everyone to get out their cell phones and finish reading the service by the electronic glow. We did. 

“Let there be light,” God said. And there was light. Now, light emanating from a cell phone certainly isn't what the writer(s) of Genesis had in mind, but it worked. The bishop's immediate response reminded us that in the midst of darkness and potential danger, we actually carried light with us. (Who would have thought that the Light of Christ could come from the light of a cell phone...) 

It took over 24 hours for power to be restored, and during that time I began to ponder how parenting (or grandparenting) can often require the same kind of good-humored, creative, and instantaneous flexibility that Bishop Gallagher showed. 

I don't think parents can avoid the dark times, whether from a two-year old's tantrums or a terrifying illness or the outrageous negativity of an unhappy teenager. My own tendency has always been to want the big fix, an end to the darkness, but that peculiar service-by-cell-phone-light was a reminder that sometimes we can find a small and immediate thing that doesn't quiet the storm or dispel the darkness, but that lets us function in the midst of it all. Sometimes just getting through is enough, just seeing the next word or the next step.

And it helps to have companions; a lot of little lights together make us less lonely and afraid. 

My favorite short story is Raymond Carver's "A Small Good Thing." It's a desperately sad story, but the deep truth it offers is that a single, small good thing can offer hope in the midst of horrendous events. If this is, for whatever reason, a dark and stormy time in your life as a parent, think about what small good thing might provide a little light, a little hope, a brief respite from the turmoil. 

Like those cell phones in our pockets that gave light to our prayers, probably what you need in order to take the next step, and the next, is already within reach. And if nothing else, prayer in the midst of darkness ultimately provides its own light.