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There’s a light in our darkness

I didn't see the light left on. 
It was such a small beam directed downward.
A task light, meant to illuminate
what was cooking, to give a
progress report on the scrambled eggs
which had been long since consumed.
I didn't see the light left on. 
What with the sun's rays drowning it in their showy display,
splashing their way across the fingerprint-streaked kitchen appliances and reflecting onto the floor,
where yesterday's crumbs mixed with this morning's paw prints all clamoring to be cleaned.
I didn't see the light left on. 
The overhead luminescent so immediate and far-reaching.
The days' news face-up, unwilling to wait with its urgent communications,
and night-before items strewn, awaiting retrieval,
while two impatient hounds whine their displeasure
from sleeping quarters half-a-room away.
I didn't see the light left on. 
Those perpetual under-the-cabinet LEDs so unforgiving!
Every corner exposed, every surface uncovered.
"Coffee's ready!" insists a tiny green light, dismissing its "2:00 AM" digital display.
Little liar. Pay no attention to the coffee pot clock.
It used to brew on command, back in the day.
I didn't see the light left on
until it was time to leave; and I
switched off the overheads,
extinguished the LEDs and
bid the sun's rays farewell as they moved mercifully
onward taking their attentions and affections elsewhere.

"Excuse me," beckoned the light,
its beam still focused on its solemn assignment --
standing sentry over the cooking coils,
long cooled and fully forgotten.

until the darkening dared it to proclaim itself.

"I'm still here."
I wonder what else I am not seeing,
drowned as it often is in the invading ambient light.
I wonder what else I am not hearing, 
quenched as it often is by the parading ambient noise.
I wonder what else I am not sensing, 
habituated as I've become to the pelting of ambient turmoil.
I wonder what I might discover, if
I let myself attend to the light left on:

Its dedicated beam
Its resolute stare

Its stalwart attention
Its deep concern

What is it trying to show me?
what is it trying to tell me?
What is it dying to say?
Perhaps only darkness could bring this to light.  

Let there be light

There is something about light in the darkness. Even with my eyes closed I can still see it.

The Light of Love

Do you see what I see above the Love?

The dancing







of…what is it that dances and moves in the periphery of my vision? I do not see it with my eyes, yet I know that it’s there. It’s teasing me.

Yet, it’s teaching me.

That no darkness is so dark, no eyes are so closed, no situation is so dim or life so spent that the light of God cannot get in. Light’s like that.

To all of you who read The Kinesthetic Christian, occasionally, often or always, please know my thanks. For the light a writer sheds can only ever be as bright as the flicker it finds in those who read it. Light’s like that.

May this season blaze in brilliance for you and for all you Love.

Merry Christmas,



Eternal flame

Today we remember President John F. Kennedy, on the anniversary of one of the most heart-breaking moments in our national history. We’re compelled to stare at the images of the motorcade and the bedlam. Pour over accounts of the man who shot him or not, was it conspiracy or not, was it even this man who did the shooting or not.

It is a moment the people of November 22, 1963 needed to get through. Yet, we hang on. Do we have some unfinished business there? Are we not satisfied with the story? Do we really believe it even happened? This Camelot. This ideal. This wunderkind of a man, youthful good looks, fine tailored suits, oratory that stirred, calling us to action toward a future that held such promise.

Eternal Flame JFKHow could a force that vibrant and a life so dynamic have been snuffed out. It is fitting that we remember him by a flame, the “eternal flame” — A memento that helps us over the difficult time. Suggests that his memory and direction and energy and ideals live on, even in us. In those who stand by and pay our respects in remembrance of him. We snap a photo to honor him and remember the moment.

Odd, that. Snapping a photo of a flame, especially an eternal flame. As if we can capture it, print it and make it our own personal reminder of this moment and this man. Perhaps we would do better to savor it in our minds. Let it take hold there and seep down deep into our souls. Allow it to take root. Because those photos are always so disappointing later. They never quite do justice to their object.

I wonder, too, about those photos taken in the bright light of day. The flickering flame, dancing and moving on the breeze, fed by an unseen source of fuel. There’s a life to that. But not to the snapshot. Not to the still life. And perhaps, especially, not in the daylight. After all, the flame is best seen at night, when it gives light rather than competes for it.

We’re all taking pictures and videos these days. They are shared far and wide. In fact, their worth is often measured by how many click-throughs they achieve or how many views they get. The most poignant ‘go viral.’ An interesting term: the spread of a disease.

Unfortunately, the photo of President Kennedy that got my immediate and longest attention is the one just after he is shot. He is slumped and Mrs. Kennedy dives backward in desperation. After this I am drawn to the photo of his son John saluting his father; it is the boy’s 3rd birthday. Why are we compelled by images like this?

Perhaps by emotion or pain or memory or perhaps by inquisitiveness and disbelief, in that instant we hold the story still. The photos are iconic because, through them, we see more. That’s why we stare and stare. From the distance of 50 years we both look back and look ahead. Are we safer? better prepared? more aware? Are we different?

In an instant, we lost a president. The shock waves of that moment took hours and even days to reverberate around the world. Today, they would be so instantaneous we would be struck almost simultaneously with the news. Imagine that moment…

There is a light that flickers even in that stillness. Even in that darkness.

“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. …In him was life, and the life was the light of men. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” (John 1, 5)

We need not be afraid of the dark. We have a light that dances and lives.

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