Drawn to Light

A little something personal I wrote on Tuesday, April 10^th that I’ve just now decided to post.
I didn't think it would be of any interest then (can't say I'm any more convinced now).

They had already left for school.

I was making my exit for work when rays of light captured my attention. But it was coming from the strangest of all places.

It was coming from the hatch to the attic and shot straight out across the ceiling. I had never even noticed a gap between the ceiling and the trim before, let alone streaming light beams.

I wondered the cause . . . the source.

Why was it coming from the attic?

I tilted my head at various angles trying to figure it out.

I wanted to leave—needed to leave—but wonder kept me from walking away.

And I knew I couldn’t responsibly leave for work without checking it out.

“Great!” I self-muttered, as I checked the clock for time. Wonder quickly faded to annoyance. I couldn’t just leave, something might be horribly wrong.

I begrudgingly headed to the garage to retrieve the ladder when my imagination decided to butt in.

I made my way lugging and laboring with the ladder, thinking some psycho had taken up residence in my attic. Or maybe I would find a gaping hole in the roof. Or could it be that a light has been on up there ever since we moved in?

“Grab something to use as a weapon, just in case I have to club some squatter over the head.”  I armed myself with a flashlight for self-defense.

Hindsight finds my fear rather laughable.

But at that point I was more compelled by the light. I was curious beyond fear. Solving the mysterious source of the light was greater than my anxiety. Who has a light and hides it, right?

Heart pounding, mind racing, flashlight firmly gripped in hand, I climbed . . . drawn to light. I was pleasantly amused to see streaming rays of sunlight. I noticed a few missing slats in the gable vent. The light that streamed, casting beams through even the slightest crack, was merely the sun rising . . . strong and proud. And the way it filled the space warmed with more than simply relief.

I put the flashlight back. I returned the ladder to its place. But the wonder . . . I took that with me.

Then, another “light” came on as I had an even greater realization . . .

That was the third time in those few days that I had been drawn to light.

It was the night of Good Friday (early Saturday morn, actually). I was awakened by light pooling on my bathroom floor and shining across to my bedroom. It was bright enough—even through the closed wooden blinds—to disrupt my slumber. I lay dazed, trying to figure out where that light could be coming from at that hour. The digits on the clock read 2:18.

I half-rose and shuffled to the window—captivated to see what I could see. I peered between the slats to see where it was coming from. And there in the night sky hung the moon, full as can be. Somehow I was surprised by it. I don’t follow the moon phases, so I wasn’t expecting it to coincide with Easter weekend (label me “uninformed”). “Cool!” was all I could come up with—hardly the verbal response to match my joy.

Recall of something I had very recently written echoed as I smiled my way back to bed; “This same moon—with a grand story to tell—shone over the Cross.”  

The next night I again had the same experience. From a deep sleep I was awakened once more by light streaming in through the bathroom blinds and spilling into my bedroom. It was 2:22 Easter morning. I now knew what it was—but still, I was drawn to rise to see. The light compelled . . . called. And there shone the moon as Resurrection Morning.

I felt. I’m not sure what, exactly. I can’t find words to describe what I felt. I just felt. I guess I felt . . . blessed.

Light coming from above has a way of doing just that.

Who is not moved by mysterious light shining at Easter? Who isn't roused from a dead sleep to feel . . . feel alive . . . awakened.

I welcome these interruptions—these blips in the norm to chase after light.

After all, who can deny a light burning brightly?