On a dark and dreary day, a day that is cold and wet, the head is bent in deep thought. Some might say sorrow. Some might say defeat. Some might say the heart is weary, the mind is weak, the soul is beaten down. Some might say the spirit has left. But they would be wrong. The outer world is just fleeting finery, after all, like a pretty dress. Or maybe it’s shabby like old woolen gloves missing most of the fingers. What does it matter? It is just the façade.
Inside the glow remains, and it cannot be taken away. Not with a thousand men on a thousand horses. There is no blade so sharp, no arrow so quick, no sword so piercing that it can touch the inner world. And it is not for lack of trying. Oh, the blade, the arrow, the sword--they have tried. How they would love to pierce through to the inner world, to the secret light, but their efforts are thwarted again and again.
|Heaven . . . escaping.|
It is a light so tiny, we sometimes forget it. When days are sunny and bright, when friends are near, when laughter is heard, the tiny light within is forgotten because it is not needed. When there is hard work to do and much of it, when there is a mountain of bills to pay, when responsibilities weigh heavily and concentration is continually demanded, the tiny light within is forgotten because we are too busy. At these times, it just seems so small, so useless, so unnecessary.
And then the darkness comes, the real darkness. Then the sorrow that tries men’s souls pours and seeps into places the blade for all its sharpness could never even dream of entering. The fear enters into the secret wounds that the piercing sword never knew existed. The defeat slithers into pockets of the mind too quick for even the swiftest arrow.
It is all in vain, though, because in the tiny place is the tiny light, the one that we had forgotten about but had not forgotten us. And now it is not so tiny. Now it burns as hot as a star, shining like the Sun, and saying, “You may come no further!” Once more, as has happened many times in the past, the sorrow, the fear, the defeat are stopped in their tracks, cursed, thrown out to join the blade, the sword, and the arrow.
Heaven pours down again, and not a moment too soon.