When the Lights Go Out

 

Tuesday at supper the lights go out. It's a common occurrence out here in a more rural setting, even if there's no thunderstorm or other obvious cause. Reminds me of the cottage somewhat.

Sometimes, without warning, you can be left in the dark.

Supper time is also sunset, so we are immediately searching for flashlights and candles, both of which let us finish our meal. We didn't mind. There is a certain ambiance about it all.

But then the matter of evening worship time comes up.

The large meeting room where we usually gather doesn't seem like a good idea. Too much stumbling about to get there; too wide a space for little flashlights.

So we collect the children around one of their dining tables, outside under the kitchen roof. Two candles are fetched, lit, and placed in the middle. Suradet grabs his guitar... and the wonder happens.

The novelty of the blackout only adds to the enthusiasm. A rousing chorus or two, complete with an all-in table drumming effect gets us started. And then a more reflective song, repeating the phrase "sangserun Pranam, sangeurn Pranam, salaseurgn Pranam PraJesus" (praise the name of Jesus).

Because we are tightly gathered around the table, voices are strong, and joyful, and leaning into one another.

And from somewhere there comes harmonies in three parts, strong and sweet and sustained in a way that happens sometimes when we catch the Spirit's wave like this. For a second or two, with children's voices singing, and candles flickering, and worship rising I am convinced that somehow I have actually arrived in heaven.

For a second.

Or two.

The music stops and Ahjahn Ruth is to lead the devotional. My lesson on King David's big mistakes will wait for another time. There is a moment happening, and it needs seizing.

Look at the candle.
Jesus is the light of the world.
We carry His light.
The darkness cannot extinguish the light.
You have a light within you.
The light of hope and joy and strength.
The light of Jesus.

Go shine.

These are the moments when everything else makes sense. Everything good and awful together that has ever happened to me is right-sized, re-ordered, prioritized. Every ugly thing doesn't matter any more.

Because sometimes without warning you can be left in the dark.
And then comes a night of candles and singing and you realize again who you are, and what you were created to do.

This. Oh yes, this.

Little faces in the candle light.
Harmonies in a language not native to my tongue,
and the children who sing them,
owning my heart.

And yes, I think heaven will be just like this.