Tuesday, January 29, 2013


When I first moved here, I felt like an Israelite wandering in the desert. I was fully convinced, just like they were, that God had moved me here just to watch me wither and die.

I wanted to go back to Egypt!

But as my time here grew longer and longer, I realized that maybe I wasn't in the desert. I mean, at least the Israelites had manna and could see God!

I didn't feel that I had either one.

I couldn't put it into words exactly how I felt until one day I was talking to the Other Nut, and he said the words for me.

I'm not in the desert after all. It's like I'm in a huge, dark room; one so dark that I can't even see my own feet. A darkness so dark, it almost seems thick, like you can cut it with a knife.

It's scary being in such darkness. I don't like that I can't see my own feet.

And I can't see God.

These two combinations make moving in the right direction kind of hard. So I've spent the last year trying to figure out where to walk. I've bumped into every wall around me as I've tried to find the light switch.

I haven't found it yet.

You know, I think it's natural to not like the dark. There is something about the darkness, that even though it doesn't affect my oxygen supply, I feel like I can't breathe. The darkness makes me want to find the light and find it quick! I don't think I naturally immediately sit down and wait for the light to come back on.

You know the dialogue. Someone sneaks in and turns out the light, and you immediately say, "Hey! Who turned off the light? Turn it back on!" And if they don't, you shuffle with hands stretched out until you find the switch and turn it back on.

"Don't do that again," you say.

But even worse is when the electricity goes out, leaving you in complete darkness that also is eerily quiet. Gone are the normal, everyday noises that fill in our day and night; the hum of the refrigerator, the constant sound of the bedroom fan, and the sound of the A/C or heater kicking on. We almost don't notice them until they are silence by no electricity. And I don't know about you, but the Other Nut and I don't just sit there wondering what happened. It is such a strange sense, that it even wakes us up in the middle of the night when it happens.

We find ourselves immediately fanning out, again with arms outstretched, searching for flashlights.

Because we like some amount light, even if it is a little bit, to help us find our way. Sitting in the complete darkness, not knowing exactly what happened is unsettling. It isn't until we have an idea of the cause of complete darkness and silence can we just sit and wait. Wait for someone to fix it and turn the lights back on.

And strangely, the resuming hums of the typically unnoticed appliances are soothing.

This darkness, the one the comes with the loss of electricity, is the one I feel. Completely dark and eerily quiet. I can't seem to just flip a switch to fix the problem. Gone are the comfortable hums of my previous life.

Dark. And eerily quiet.

And I'm waiting to hear the humming of God's voice break through in the midst of my darkness.

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