We recently moved for the second time in twelve months. Being renters at this point in life, this second move showed me the inherent crappy side of renting--landlords who like to change their minds on a whim. But, here we are, in a new home...and I have to say, to quote one of those dear old ladies who was once part of my life, "Things have a way of working out." We're downtown, near all the action, like we've always wanted to be...and yet we have this beautiful private, fenced-in yard for the kids to play in, hardwood floors in all but a couple rooms, and this awesome den I'm currently sitting in with a ceiling-to-floor length window out which I can watch the birds flitting in and out of our trees. Sometimes it's the little things, ya know?
Just one week in this new location, and somehow I'm feeling more hopeful. I was pondering this the other night while I was nursing the baby back to sleep. I had just stumbled through the dark hallway, still partially filled with boxes yet to be unpacked. I couldn't find the light switch on the wall, so I was relying on my arms stuck out in front of me, zombie-style, reaching for the door to our bedroom. After locating the doorknob, I found myself with yet another elusive light switch in the bedroom. I stumbled further through the darkness, stubbing my toes and bumping my knees along the way as furniture in unfamiliar places jumped out at me. Finally, I found our small master bathroom, with light switches in more normal alignment on the wall, and shed some light on the situation. At this point, baby Leilani, who is still sleeping in our bedroom, was wide awake from all my crashing around in the unfamiliar darkness. I picked her up and we laid on the bed. My brain, which always functions on a deeper plane of thought than necessary it seems, immediately latched onto that phrase "unfamiliar darkness".
As I nursed her back to sleep I thought about the little sliver of light shining in the bedroom from the cracked bathroom door. I thought about how if I had only thought to leave that light on when I originally put the baby to bed a few hours ago, I would have avoided a few bruises on my way back in in the dark. I thought about how oftentimes life is like this bedroom in a new house, covered in a darkness you are unfamiliar with. It's not that comforting darkness of the home you grew up in, the one you can navigate in pitch black. It's the one with furniture in new places, strange shadows on the wall, light switches that have seemingly disappeared.
I thought about how that's life for me, and many of us, right now, literally and figuratively. I am still trying to understand all the shadows in the room...is that the sharp corner of a dresser I need to avoid, or the four poster bed I can lean over and fall into in safety? I thought of that verse from Psalms,
and how my priest explained it once: sometimes God gives us just enough light to see the next step in front of us, and then the next...and then the next. We don't get to see the whole room, and we don't always remember to leave the bathroom light on. But with trust and hope, we will find our way through this unfamiliar darkness.
"Your word is a lamp to my feet, and a light to my path."
