Being Divine Light

 One of my best parts of the day is in the morning when I walk up the stairs to the garret, and I turn on the twinkly lights around the window and then light up the sparkly fairy tree. Next is my desk lamp, followed by a small candle and the floor lamp near the Girlfriend Chair. 

I welcome the light. Not because I fear or dislike the darkness. In fact without the darkness I can't see the light.

No, these little lights remind me to know the Divine Light within me. 

And to live as that light in the world. 

Each of us has the task to expand that light into the world.

Here's an example. My husband has been collecting items needed by those whose circumstances have forced them to live in tent encampments in our metropolitan area. The numbers of people without homes is staggering, and imagine what it means to face a Minnesota winter living in a tent. Bruce initially responded to a request from our neighborhood social media site, and then he put out a call to our congregation and wow, the results have been amazing. He takes the donations he receives to a central site, and they are distributed as needed from there.  

And then there was light! 

I have written before about my mother's habit of turning on a lamp in my bedroom whenever I was home visiting. She did that before the dark descended. And then no matter when I went to bed, there was light to welcome me. 

I think that is what is happening outside, too. Last night I stood on our front steps and noticed all the homes lit up with exterior holiday lights. Not only earlier than previous years, but many more than last year. There may be logical reasons for this: the weather has been conducive for outdoor decorating, and our street has lots of young families now, and you know how children love decorations. 

But I suspect the reason is deeper than that. Not only do we need the light, but we need to BE the light right now. We need to extend the light into the world. 

And then there was light! Divine Light

An Invitation 

Where are you noticing light and how are you extending light into the world? I would love to know. 

Gratitude for Both the Light and the Dark

 During the day, it is just a pretty blue glass ball, but all day it quietly collects energy and light. 

And then at night, it glows. A soft light, a focused bit of radiance.

                   

Sometimes when I get up in the middle of the night, I look out through the kitchen window to remind myself of light that is always present. And then I return to bed, where I return to sleep in the dark of night.

I am grateful for the darkness that frames the light, focuses the light.

An Invitation

Where do you find light these days? I would love to know.

Mischief in Paris

Look what the squirrels are doing to my table in the garden!!! Sigh! 

                         

A Light in the Window: Thursday's Reflection

"We light a light."

Those are the opening words each day in the daily devotion I copy as part of my morning meditation. (Read  post here.) 


  


I have thought about those words during my morning walks. Have you noticed how the bright and clear first thing in the morning light of summer has faded somewhat and seems slower to slide into the day's beginnings? Now as we enter the day, we may need some extra light, and we turn on a lamp before settling in to read the newspaper or before walking into the kitchen to fix a cup of coffee. 

I am drawn to those lights, those signs of life. 

 When we moved to Ohio one fall many years ago, I often walked in our charming old neighborhood in the early evening. That was the time of day I felt most lonely, the interval between dinner preparations and when our son came home from football practice and my husband returned from a day's work. I filled the day with home tasks and errands and found ways to keep myself occupied until, that is, the hour when the day turned into evening. 

That's when I walked the winding, tree-lined streets of our new neighborhood. I often paused in front of homes where I noticed the light of a table lamp glowing through a window. "Does someone live in this house who will become my new best friend?" I mused. "Is there someone in this house who also waits for a football player son to return from practice, sweaty and hungry?" I wondered about the people who lived there, their story, the ways they gave each other light.

Seeing the occasional light inside a home somehow comforted me on those lonely days. I felt welcomed and even hopeful, as if someone was waiting and watching for me, too.

I write this post sitting at my desk in the garret and even though it is not necessary, I have turned on my desk lamp. Doing that simple act feels like a sign of hospitality, a kind of embrace for the work I will do today.

I know I need lamplight to guide my way, and I send blessings for the light and for all those who share their light. 

Light a light. 

An Invitation
Where have you found light recently? I would love to know. 

Turn on the Light: Tuesday's Reflection

When my mother was still alive, one of her late afternoon habits was to go up to the bedroom she and my father shared and turn on the dresser light, even if it wasn't yet dark. That way when they went up the stairs at bedtime a light showed them the way.

If I was home visiting, she turned on a light in my bedroom, too.
I never thought much about this daily ritual until she died. 

I missed her light. 

I don't know if Mom thought of her light routine as a spiritual practice or even as a touch of love, but that's how it seems to me. She knew that the dark comes, but she also knew she could shine a light through the dark. 

Recent days have seemed dark in our country, and not just because of the eclipse. More than ever we need signs of light, but, of course, the way to create light is to BE the light. Do your remember the children's song sung so often in Sunday School? 
                       This little light of mine. 
                       I'm going to let it shine. 
                       Let it shine. 
                       Let it shine. 
                       Let it shine.

The children stand with light on their faces and as they sing, they lift one finger in the air to symbolize the light they possess, the light they are in the world. 

I hasten to add I am not talking about torches of fire. Instead I am calling forth our own glowing light, the light of our essence, the light we possess for love of the Divine, love of family and friends, love of country and the hope of all we can be.

The other day a friend sent me this Sandra Boynton drawing

because, she said, it made her think of me. I generally sign letters and cards and even emails with either "Love and Light" or "Light Blessings." Blessings and love pair naturally with light, growing  from the light, as well as extending into the light. 

Many days I try to channel my mother's light and turn on our bedroom dresser light before dark and also, a lamp in the window of the room we call "the snug," which is in the front of the house and can be seen by all who pass. This simple act, a spiritual practice, really, reminds me to let my light shine.

The world needs my light.

The world needs your light.

Love and Light and Light Blessings, too, Nancy

An Invitation
How do you let your light shine? I would love to know. 

NOTE: I recommend this video --you will feel lighter. http://www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/new-orleans-mayor-confederate-monument_us_5995a3d3e4b0d0d2cc84c9a7

A New View:Thursday's Reflection

A week or so ago I read a suggestion in a home decor blog to hang a string of white lights somewhere inside your home to add coziness to the space. I decided to do just that around the garret's window frame. My desk faces this window, and I sensed adding the lights would not just make the space even cozier, but would even change the view. 

When the package arrived, Bruce delivered it to me in my garret, wondering what I had ordered. He thought the idea was a bit silly, but I invited him to sit in my desk chair to see what I see.

Garage shingles.

I think he was quite surprised actually. 

Before replacing the tiny single car garage with this new double garage, I could see beyond the alley to the next street. I could see the neighbor's backyard garden and majestic trees. I could see occasional traffic, and I enjoyed feeling part of the neighborhood even though I was in my quiet, solitary space. I am not unhappy about our new garage and in fact, give thanks for it each time I drive into it. Nor do I regret the design, which includes an upstairs with permanent stairs. A great place for easy storage. 

However, I do miss my former view. 

True, during the spring I can see the branches from the neighbor's flowering tree bending over our fence, and yesterday I could see the shadows of those bare branches. And when it snows I can see squirrel tracks on the roof or the patterns of melting frost as the day warms. But most days what I see are grey-brown shingles. A wall of them. 

Bruce sat in my desk chair, and for the first time he understood. 

I decided to change my view, to change what I see, and I added the lights. They not only add a new dimension to the window and frame what I see in a new way, but they remind me to be the light, to give light. I need that reminder most days.

They remind me that I can do something small--the lights cost $6.99, and they took me five minutes, if that, to hang--to add light to what I do, who I am, and what I see.

I can't change the fact that the garage is there or that no one, including me, thought about how the garage would change the view, but I can choose to work with what is.

The first morning I walked up the stairs and plugged them in, I felt lighter. They frame the darkness and bring more light into my world. 

An Invitation

What can you do to bring more light into the world? What can you do to change what you see and how you see? I would love to know. 

(I wrote thoughts about light and even mentioned this happy string of lights in one of my posts last week. Read here. )

December's Reflection: Meet Santa Al.

For many years now Santa Al has arrived at our doorstep in early December. Yes, I know Santa officially makes his rounds Christmas Eve, but thanks to an amazing woodcarver and good friend, Al Edwins, Santa comes early to our house. We have a standing order with Al to send us a Santa of his choice every year and like going to the St Olaf Christmas Concert, his arrival signals the start of the season for us. Every year we say, "This is my favorite. This is the best one." We said it this year, and we will say it again next year. 

During our years in our Madison home these hand carved Santas filled a cupboard in the dining room, but this year our new Santa Al stands alone. His buddies are packed away, since our home in Madison is still for sale, but we are not fully moved into our St Paul home. With our first floor bare of most furniture and awaiting repainting to begin, this is not the year to decorate. We do have a wreath on the front door, but the lone Santa will have to do. 

The Best One, The Perfect One
And you know what, this year's Santa Al actually is the best one, the perfect one for he is holding a lantern. 

Santa Al is lighting the way. I set him on the kitchen counter as a reminder of the path we have been on, leading us full circle to our heart's home. While the path has not always been straight, there has always been a light ahead of us and we have continued steadfastly on the journey. 

But the light is not just about us. 

Prepare Ye the Way
The Gospel this last Sunday was about John the Baptist proclaiming, "Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near." He quotes the prophet Isaiah,
          Prepare the way of the Lord,
          make his paths straight.
                                                 Matthew 3: 2-3
As those words were read, I heard the song from the musical Godspell ring in my head,  "Pre-e-e-pare ye the way of the Lord. Pre-e-epare ye the way of the Lord." 

We have each been challenged to keep our lanterns lit and to lift them in order to know the way. No matter your faith tradition, our purpose in life is about preparing the way--for those who come after us, loved ones and those unknown to us. Our task is to keep the way clear by living a life of joy and forgiveness and openness and by letting go of hurts and regrets and fears. 

Santa Al doesn't look much like John the Baptist wearing clothing of camel's hair and eating locust and wild honey, but he reminds me to "Arise, shine for your light has come." Isaiah 60:1 

I promise to lift my lantern high. 

An Invitation
Who has held the lantern high for your journey? Where does your light come from? I invite your thoughts.

Tuesday's Reflection: The Lure of the Lamp

I love coming downstairs on these dark mornings and turning on the kitchen desk lamp. For just an instant I stand in the glow of a little circle of light. It is still dark outside and in the rest of the house, but right there in that sheltered space, there is light. 

Just enough light to remind me of the light to come.

"Holy Dark"
Joyce Rupp O.S.M in her book Little Pieces of Light, Darkness and Personal Growth calls the kind of darkness that is essential for our growth "holy dark." That's how the early morning dark into light feels to me. 

That one light is a reminder to me to get quiet, listen to the inner promptings. It is in the little circle of light that I meditate and pray. I write. I read. I sit in silence. It is in the little circle of light where there is shelter for deep conversations and connection. The lit lamp reminds me of the inner light that never goes out, even when I may feel overwhelmed by darkness. Light follows the dark. 

And it always does. 

Rituals of Light and Dark
I recall my mother's habit of turning a light on in the bedroom she shared with my father in the early evening or late afternoon during the dark months, and when I was still living at home or in later years if I was visiting, she turned on a lamp in my bedroom as well. When I finally ascended the stairs to my room, the light would be waiting for me, welcoming me and protecting me as I moved into the darkness. That lamp on my dresser symbolized her love for me. I felt loved. 

Now if I stay with my father, I try to remember to turn on a light in his room before he goes to bed. And at home, even though I know it isn't energy efficient, I always leave a lamp on in our bedroom, so whenever my husband or I enter that room, a sign of protection and welcome and love greets us. I think Mom would approve. 


Sometimes during the day the house flashes with light. When potential buyers come to view the house, the routine is to turn on every single light in the house, per realtor instructions.  No matter the time of day or if the sun is blazing. My husband resists this ritual and suggests the realtor can turn on the lights when she/he arrives, but I think the house with all its lights on welcomes its guests and says, "This is a safe place. This is a place where you can create your own light." At other times I imagine someone walking by our house at night and seeing light in the upstairs bedroom window or downstairs in the den or living room. How could anyone not think, "Cozy, peaceful, comfortable"?

Later as one of the last acts of the days I walk through the house turning off each of the lamps which have kept me in the light throughout the day. I put the house to bed before I put myself to bed, trusting that light will follow the darkness. 

And it always does. 

A Gift
                    Turning on the Light

          Without this darkness--no awareness of light.
          Without this light--no awareness of darkness.
           In the flickering of the flame,
           in the delicate filament of the bulb
           is the light that is also the dark,
           the dark that is also the light.

           I shall never understand this mystery.
           Light and dark are somehow the same.
           I want not to prefer one over the other
           but to appreciate their unique
           and simultaneous truth. 

           Now light. Now dark. The switch turns,
           the wick catches fire. In that split second
           dark and light are one
           as is everything in the universe.
                                  Gunilla Norris 
                                  Being Home, A Book of Meditations

An Invitation
How comfortable are you in the dark? How do you create light in the darkness? What are your rituals of light and dark? I look forward to your comments.

O, Light Everlasting, a post by Nancy L. Agneberg

O, light everlasting
O, love never failing
Illumine our darkness and draw us to thee.
    Olaf C. Christiansen


     I walked the neighborhood this morning at 6:30, and although still dark, I had no trouble finding my way. I followed the lights, house to house, inside and out. In many homes I noticed Christmas trees already aglow, a welcome sight for sleepy children as they stumbled into the kitchen for breakfast before school or a comforting and quiet presence while reading the paper or checking email. I walked quietly and hoped nobody noticed me taking in these cozy domestic scenes. I offered a blessing to each household and prayed that this day would bring them more light than darkness. 
     The other morning, as I drove to Curves to exercise, I noticed the barest sliver of a moon. It couldn't have been much skinnier and still be identified as the moon. A child's drawing of the moon. And yet, so much light in the not yet morning sky. How little light we seem to need in order to see, in order not to feel blocked in darkness. On the way home, when the morning was much closer to being born, I drove past a home with a large menorah in its front yard, all but three candles illuminated. Seeing that light brought to mind miracles, including the first of God's creative acts. According to the first chapter of Genesis,  "God said, 'Let there be light,' and there was light. And God saw that the light was good; and God separated the light from the darkness." This is the light that existed before the sun, moon, and stars, which were created on the fourth day. 
     Often I sign letters and sometimes emails "Light Blessings." I am not wishing a lightweight blessing. On the contrary, I pray that the recipient will know the light, find the light, and if the darkness seems overwhelming, that the light that shines deep in the recesses of our souls may be found. It seems to me that we let our light shine when we are open and responsive to all of life, even the darkness. With light comes clarity, direction, understanding. 
     Light reveals us to ourselves, which is not always so great if you find yourself in a big disgusting mess, possibly of your own creation. But like sunflowers we turn toward light. Light warms, and in most cases it draws us to itself. And in this light, we can see beyond shadow and illusion to something beyond our modest receptors, to what is way beyond us, and deep inside.
                    Help, Thanks, Wow 
                    The Three Essential Prayers
                    Anne Lamott, p. 7
    It is a paradox, however, that in order to know the light, we must also know the darkness and even as we learn to accept the darkness in our life, we continue to yearn for the light. Winter may be the season of darkness, but according to the Christmas story, a story that takes place, by the way, at night, darkness gives birth to light.
    In a couple hours I will light the candle on our kitchen counter, and I will turn on the lanterns lining our front steps. These tangible signs of light remind me to nurture my own light within, even when darkness descends.  Light Blessings. 

In what way do you or have you experienced light in your life? What light-filled people have you known? In what way does your inner light make a difference? What do you do to create light in the world even in the midst of darkness?