I was awake far too early this morning for a Saturday. The moon was still shining strong and the stars were still out. Now the sun has risen and is currently sending its strong spring light right through the window onto the right side of my face. If I turn to look through the window, the light blinds me, but if I look away I can bask in it.
Surely a sign of God's presence, all the more telling since I have been meditating most of the week on John 8:12.
"I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness but will have the light of life."
The direct light is hard to bear. If I stare directly into the sun, I will damage my sight. And in fact, I really can't gaze directly into the heart of its light. If I try, my eyes clamp shut in self-defense, without volition. But I keep turning my face towards the light, and I catch quick glimpses of its brilliance. And I want to sit in the light, and walk outside in it. I seek it out whenever I can.
So much like my relationship with God. I catch a flash of the life we are promised. Once in a very great while, for a very brief moment, I gaze directly into Light that is at the center of all things. For a microsecond, I "get" it. But I can't maintain that experience, that connection. Without volition, I shut down. In self-defense? I know I think I want to live in the direct light, but somehow I keep turning away from it. And yet, I keep seeking it out.