A Gift of Light

The college students are back in town. The traffic is slower, yet more dangerous. You never know when a new-to-town driver will bolt across a couple lanes to get where she needs to be. Horns honk, and impatience rears its ugly head.

I'm walking on the greenway, enjoying a quiet evening. Runners race past me, and cyclists whiz by on their way to somewhere important or on their way to nowhere important, only enjoying the strength of a young body.

I cross over the wooden bridge and continue following the peaceful path. My shoes clop, clop, clop creating a rhythm that mimics the one inside me. A slow heart, a quiet, calming thud-up, thud-up, drives the frantic feelings and thoughts from my mind.

Passing the yellow "Caution: Blind Curve Ahead" sign, I see that the bench overlooking the river is free. Sitting down for a few moments, I swat absent-mindedly at the buzzing insects. The mosquitoes, multiplying quickly during this very wet summer, are looking for a tasty meal. I hear the traffic crossing the highway bridge over the Tar River. The locusts and cicadas shriek their high-pitched summer songs, and more people race and ride past my quiet spot.

I watch as the river slowly flows past me. Small sticks float on top the water while tiny ripples of movement can be seen in the dusky evening light. This river has come a long way from the trickling mountain streams of Virginia. Soon it will slide into the waters of the Pamlico River and then sift into the Pamlico Sound. Finally, the Atlantic will embrace the fresh water, sending it northwards to recreate the cycle again.

Sometimes it is hard to close out the sounds of runners, cyclists, road traffic, and pesky summer insects. Listening to the inner rhythm is often impossible as outside noises speed up and magnify their own self-importance. But the longer I sit here, basking in the solitude of one among many, the quieter the evening becomes. The longer I watch the slow-moving river, the more my heart and mind meld into one slow river of peacefulness.

Finally, I begin to feel God's presence. I begin to hear his faithful voice whispering to me. Silence is the loudest when God walks by. He sits on the bench and gazes at the river's gentle strength. He reminds me that he has been there the entire time, waiting for me to join him, to listen to the still, small voice within that beckons to a steady rhythm.

Time passes; the night begins creeping along the tree-covered walk, and I reluctantly rise from the bench. Walking back the way I came, I pass only a solitary gentleman. He nods his greying head at me as if to say, "You chose the better way."  I glance to the right of the path as one last gleam of sunshine finds its way to a clearing in the trees. A green clump of swamp grass glows in this last of the day's light. That is the gift, the voice whispering, "Time with me will let you see in the darkness. Night will not fall while I am walking beside you."

"You are my lamp, O Lord; the Lord turns my darkness into light." 2 Samuel 22:29