Edited. Originally posted 11/9/10
Notice how easy it is to know the light in the dark of night. Light penetrates darkness and, as such, is in stark contrast to it. Light is so obvious that even irreligious people stuck in a pitch black pit are quick to recognize and appreciate light as it sheds its rays of hope.
Light is unmistakable in the day as darkness is completely thwarted. Nonchalant Christian living is facile art in the daylight. No worries about decisions here because everything is clear. This kind of broad and encompassing brilliance seems relegated to only parts of life or over short seasons that come and go.
But the majority of life is where that which is void of color mingles with prismatic fullness: The Gray Fog. Fog in the day or night makes the light scatter, and it becomes difficult to discern where the light begins and ends. Turning on your brights won't help because that artificially intense light only makes you more blind to how bad the fog is. In darkness, we know to scream out for help, but there is just enough light in the fog to trick us into thinking that we can go it alone. You aren't completely sunk in the fog, but the going is slower and more cautious. Your life is at stake if you go too fast and take too much for granted. And of course the thickness of the fog shifts; it's never the same.
Over all the virtues we could possibly enact, we are told to put on love. The light of love is not artificially bright and will not blind us. It illuminates only what we need for the present, but that's enough to get us through. Love brings us in communion; it compels us to not let go of Him or others. When we find that we have wandered in the fog and are lost, love brings us back to where we should be.
When our love falls short, when it has grown weary and is down to an ember, we find His love is still there. And as we let go of our own self-made perceptions and abandon our hollow longings for the safety of ease, the fog lifts just enough to give us sight beyond our pain, our fear . . . and sin.
We groan weighed down with waiting, sustained by hope, for that Glorious Day, when all fog is ended and night is no more, yet the Spirit also groans, in intercessions for us beyond our understanding. Until at last, we find that not only did all things work together for good, but His love was not once separated from us.
©2010-2016 Emily Woodham