Come Where It’s Dark

I bent over and ducked my head to enter the narrow doorway into a traditional home, and my shoulders brushed both sides of the door as I entered. Inside, I could stand easily, for the thatched roof was high, held together by bendable bark formed into an  impressive grid that even an architect would appreciate. The circular walls were also formed in this fashion, which some mud around the base just to hold everything together. 

I turned my attention to the woman who had showed us in. This was her home. She was dressed in a brightly colored fabric that looked exceptionally beautiful against her dark skin. It is one long piece of cloth wrapped once over the shoulder and then around a few more times, strategically tucked and somehow staying together. (I bought one and tried to dress myself in it, which was terribly hopeless. Even with help, I couldn’t seem to get mine to stay intact without the assurance of some safety pins!) 

Her smile beamed in the darkness of her twelve-foot diameter home. She told us about her family and her children and the life of a woman in this tribe. When we shared the gospel with her, she listened intently and her eyes seemed to understand, but she couldn’t give an answer to what we had shared without first getting the approval of the head of the family, her husband’s father. My heart sank for her and for every O woman. Their culture confines them to fierce dependency on men for every decision. And they misunderstand the important truth that no one can keep you from your own personal choice to follow Jesus. I didn’t know who to be mad at: the men who are keeping so many women and children from believing in Jesus, or the women for not choosing to obey God rather than man. 

Later that week, after eating at someone’s home for dinner, we were walking back to our house under a black sky pierced a million times with twinkling stars. The Milky Way stretched across the sky like a waving banner, impossible to miss. It was like looking through a telescope except with my bare eyes. I’ve seen beautiful pictures of stars in science books, but I’ve never seen a sky this beautiful. I stared until my neck hurt. I whispered wondrous praises to the star-breather. And I kept tripping in holes and snagging my dress on thorns because I couldn’t keep my head out of the stars. 

Would you walk these sandy, thorny paths with me? My heart listened. Would you bend down and bow your head and enter their homes and tell them about me? Would you stay thirty years without seeing any fruit? Would obedience to me be reason enough even if you don’t have what man would call measurable success? 

The stars lit up the darkness of the night, and I remembered a story about a little girl who was particularly enthusiastic about her new gift of a flashlight. She turned it on in broad daylight, then realizing how unexciting that was, she ran into the closet. “Mommy,” she said excitedly, “you have to come where it’s dark!” 

We’ve been given the light of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ. There is more to life than living comfortably in broad daylight. If you want the light to shine, you have to go to where it’s dark. Let’s run passionately and joyfully into the darkness, for we hold the light of the world, and he shines in our hearts and through our lives like the glory of a million stars.