He Leadeth Me

 

  “The Word gave life to everything that was created, and his life brought light to everyone. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness can never extinguish it.” John 1:4-5
   Since the renovation, my kitchen table no longer faces the window. The window is higher now so it sits above the countertop. It wouldn’t provide much of a view anyways if I was sitting where I used to. Instead, I face a wall that is illuminated by the morning sun. The plants on the window sill cast blurry shadows in the square of sunlight. There’s an orchid in full bloom and an avocado plant I’ve been carefully pruning in an attempt to make a bonsai out of it.
  There are paler, wispy shadows criss-crossing the background, sure evidence of the trees across the road. Or maybe it’s the upper branches of the ancient apple tree gracing the side of the driveway.  
  Having the window where it is makes a huge improvement because standing at the sink means being able to look out the window instead of facing a dark and gloomy corner like it used to.
  Part of me is sorely tempted to trace these outlines on the wall but that would look weird.
  The sunlight isn’t stagnant either. The bright patch has moved down the hall since I sat down to type.
  It’s fascinating and worth the time to study the different colours of shadow. The objects that are closer to the wall are much darker; their outline much crisper. The farther away from the wall, the sunlight creeps around the edges of the silhouettes, blurring their lines.
 
  Since last week, I’ve been chewing on the idea of making peace. How does one go about it?
  I’ve started to do some grieving this week upon facing the reality of the super extreme, guarded watchfulness that accompanies me everywhere I go. I grieve this dark companion that has been so much a part of my life for so long.
  Making peace: holding the shadows up to the light of Jesus.
 
  My mom and I had a conversation about the ball chasing/police sidecar memory. While she has no recollection of these events, the recent posts reminded her of something that happened when I was around the same age. She remembered me running down the middle of the street, my mouth wide open in a scream, utterly terrified by the noise of a train and its horn. This happened when we first moved into the area. She said I eventually got used to the sound.
  While I don’t remember this event specifically, I remember the train and being told to never play near the tracks. They were close by, just behind the houses across the road.
 
  Now there’s an interesting connection…loud things are dangerous. Is that why the snarly car passing us during our walk up the road caused me to nearly leave my skin behind?
  To this day, fireworks and thunder are a couple of my least favorite things.
  So, loud noises being dangerous…are they really? Of course the noise in and of itself isn’t but the noise usually accompanies something that is…(smile)… explosions and thunderbolts. Fireworks are also accompanied by crowds of people…another of my least favorite things.
  I’ll leave that investigation for another day.
  The fundamental and childlike idea of sounds being dangerous has been a foundation for a great deal of my fear. It has caused me to listen and be alert. While this may seem silly, all the grown up, sensible me wants to do is grab hold of the screaming little girl, hold her tight and tell her she is safe.
  And maybe then, I will find peace because, my friends, there is nothing silly about fear.