If we are in dark room for a length of time, our human eyes eventually adjust to the darkness, so that any tiny light venturing into the room becomes enough for us to grasp the location of walls, furniture, and door. A tiny light—only a tiny light—can change our perception and take us from obscurity to clarity in the darkest of rooms.
When the light we see by is small, we use other faculties instead of perfect eyesight to make our way around the blackness of a room. We use our memory of what should be there, our sense of touch, or even smell. These other senses may not come into play in a brightly lit space–we wouldn’t need them. But in a very dark place, the tiny light is crucial.
Each of us has a tiny light within us, and it is a precious light unlike any other, made just for the darkest of rooms. When sadness or disappointment enters our life, we make use of that tiny light.
Vision from such a light may come about slowly, but if we remain calm and concentrate on its glow, we can find safety, security, and even courage.
And where does that light come from?
It comes from the kinship we have with the God who created us. The God who created each of us as His child.
Today is the Feast of the Epiphany. Your light has come to you.
How will you receive it?
Translating a World on the Edge 