A light of hope in the darkness
"The 7:25 sailing for Shaw and Orcas Islands will be at least 40 minutes late..."
The announcement that came over the loudspeaker of the waiting room at the Anacortes ferry dock would have been almost comical had I not woken up at 2:30a.m. Central Time in Minnesota and it was now 7:15p.m. Pacific Time (9:15 Central) and I was weary after a full day of traveling, including driving through Seattle traffic - a big enough stress of its own! (But one which went very well, thankfully!)
Besides, it was blatantly clear that the ferry wouldn't be leaving on time as it hadn't even arrived yet, let alone unloaded any passengers or loaded up new ones. But there was nothing to be done about it, so I texted my sister that she needn't leave home yet to meet me at the Orcas Island ferry dock, and pulled out my book.
I didn't have to wait for long. Soon the boat arrived, disgorged its cars and walk-on passengers, and I eagerly boarded, found a seat towards the front, and felt that familiar excitement I always have when headed to my favorite place on earth: Orcas Island, WA, where I grew up.
Had the ferry been on time, the entire trip would have taken place in daylight, but since it was late, the sun soon sank behind the islands and my view of evergreens and rocky shores was replaced with...black. The pitch darkness of a cloudy night in sparsely populated islands.
But every so often, there was a light. Perhaps a window. Perhaps an antenna, perhaps a campfire. And those lights were all the brighter for the darkness that surrounded them.
I spoke about the darkness of that ferry ride several days later, when the purpose of my visit was fulfilled. I'd been asked to officiate at the memorial service of two of my classmates from the island who died in a plane crash in Alaska.
People sometimes use the term "tragedy" loosely. It is not a tragedy when an elderly person dies after a long and fulfilling life. It is a tragedy when two people (there were three people, actually, on the plane) in their early 50's die in a terrible and unexpected way. That is tragic, by definition. That kind of tragedy brings so many questions, so much unanticipated grief.
How we deal with that grief - with the sheer unfairness of what happened - can define who we are, or, rather, who we become as a result of tragedy.
I also spoke to that idea, that we should take the energy of our sorrow and use it for good in the world. Make, as it were, beauty from the ashes.
On the day that I was asked to do the service, the first thing my husband asked me was, "Can you do it?" As in, emotionally, would I be able to stand up front and lead such a heartbreaking event?
How could I say no? How could I say yes?
I knew I could not do it alone, and so I asked many friends to pray. When the moment came, I was completely at peace. In some ways it was the easiest thing I'd ever done, despite being the hardest. I was not alone, you see. I was upheld by so many behind the scenes. My words and my energy were not my own.
Interestingly, I was asked that the message I gave would not be about God or include prayer or Scripture. Bizarrely, that request was freeing. I always know that when I speak, it's not my words but that what I say is from God. Never before had that been so obvious. The whole event was out of my hands and into His. It was up to the Holy Spirit to shine between the lines of what I was able to say. As it always should be.
Afterall, Jesus came to be the light in the world.
"I have come as a light to shine in this dark world, so that all who put their trust in me will no longer remain in the dark." John 12:46
Be the light, my friends. Take the light you know of Jesus, and shine it out into the world, even without words. Leave the results to Him.
The announcement that came over the loudspeaker of the waiting room at the Anacortes ferry dock would have been almost comical had I not woken up at 2:30a.m. Central Time in Minnesota and it was now 7:15p.m. Pacific Time (9:15 Central) and I was weary after a full day of traveling, including driving through Seattle traffic - a big enough stress of its own! (But one which went very well, thankfully!)
Besides, it was blatantly clear that the ferry wouldn't be leaving on time as it hadn't even arrived yet, let alone unloaded any passengers or loaded up new ones. But there was nothing to be done about it, so I texted my sister that she needn't leave home yet to meet me at the Orcas Island ferry dock, and pulled out my book.
I didn't have to wait for long. Soon the boat arrived, disgorged its cars and walk-on passengers, and I eagerly boarded, found a seat towards the front, and felt that familiar excitement I always have when headed to my favorite place on earth: Orcas Island, WA, where I grew up.
Had the ferry been on time, the entire trip would have taken place in daylight, but since it was late, the sun soon sank behind the islands and my view of evergreens and rocky shores was replaced with...black. The pitch darkness of a cloudy night in sparsely populated islands.
But every so often, there was a light. Perhaps a window. Perhaps an antenna, perhaps a campfire. And those lights were all the brighter for the darkness that surrounded them.
I spoke about the darkness of that ferry ride several days later, when the purpose of my visit was fulfilled. I'd been asked to officiate at the memorial service of two of my classmates from the island who died in a plane crash in Alaska.
People sometimes use the term "tragedy" loosely. It is not a tragedy when an elderly person dies after a long and fulfilling life. It is a tragedy when two people (there were three people, actually, on the plane) in their early 50's die in a terrible and unexpected way. That is tragic, by definition. That kind of tragedy brings so many questions, so much unanticipated grief.
How we deal with that grief - with the sheer unfairness of what happened - can define who we are, or, rather, who we become as a result of tragedy.
I also spoke to that idea, that we should take the energy of our sorrow and use it for good in the world. Make, as it were, beauty from the ashes.
On the day that I was asked to do the service, the first thing my husband asked me was, "Can you do it?" As in, emotionally, would I be able to stand up front and lead such a heartbreaking event?
How could I say no? How could I say yes?
I knew I could not do it alone, and so I asked many friends to pray. When the moment came, I was completely at peace. In some ways it was the easiest thing I'd ever done, despite being the hardest. I was not alone, you see. I was upheld by so many behind the scenes. My words and my energy were not my own.
Interestingly, I was asked that the message I gave would not be about God or include prayer or Scripture. Bizarrely, that request was freeing. I always know that when I speak, it's not my words but that what I say is from God. Never before had that been so obvious. The whole event was out of my hands and into His. It was up to the Holy Spirit to shine between the lines of what I was able to say. As it always should be.
Afterall, Jesus came to be the light in the world.
"I have come as a light to shine in this dark world, so that all who put their trust in me will no longer remain in the dark." John 12:46
Be the light, my friends. Take the light you know of Jesus, and shine it out into the world, even without words. Leave the results to Him.
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