Sleeping with the Light On

On those occasions I stay in hotels, the slightest shaft of light, from under an ill-fitting door or from a TV pilot, must be extinguished or blacked out with a towel, if I am to sleep. My own chamber is bathed in as pitched a darkness as one could expect in a domestic dwelling. When I was a child, however, it was the other way round. I would insist a lamp be left on, or the landing light allowed to shine through the crack. Darkness I found scary and the lamplight a consolation. The glow shielded me from the monster below the bed and the cowboy who frequented the wardrobe, emerging after hours. Now, knowing a bulb is left on would excite me enough to leave the warmth of a bed to switch it off, saving both the expense and the lost sleep. The difference between the two versions of me is age: one is old, the other young. I wonder if, as we mature as believers, we are less afraid of the dark. Those times when God seems distant and few tokens of grace come our way and light our path, are what distinguishes the strong from the weak. The latter will flail around, demanding God give them some sign or assurance; the former says ‘My Jesus doeth all things well’, come what may.

I will give you the treasures of darkness And hidden riches of secret places, That you may know that I, the Lord, Who call you by your name, Am the God of Israel. Isaiah 45:3

Image by AKASlade from Pixabay