If I say, “Surely the darkness will hide me and the light become night around me,” even the darkness will not be dark to You; the night will shine like the day, for darkness is as light to You.”
                                                                                                               –Psalm 139: 11-12

     When I read these scriptures, frankly they frighten me.  They propel me into the uncertain future of my vision loss. My blindness.  In the quiet hours of darkness in the still of the night, I wonder how I will function as a blind woman. Will I still retain my smile that cheers people? Will I still tuck away the slivers of hope as I would slivers of light to encourage myself? At this point in my life I still have quite a bit of usable vision to rely on from my right eye. I am so grateful for it. I see light and everything others see–my world just looks out of focus, blurry, a little lopsided unless I close my left eye. You can’t go around peering through one eye your whole life. So, it’s always a bit humorous to me.  But how will I function when the crutches of light  leave and I am faced with more darkness than light? When the blurriness I joke about turns to holes? What if the light I think is space is actually already a hole in my vision?
I feel like a child with endless questions that keep popping up in my mind.  But the answers elude me. Do doctors know these answers? We all perceive things differently. Who can say what I can see? Who can say what I can’t? Or what will turn to what in time? And what is being stolen that I can’t see?    
The rods and cones behind my eyes are so intricate and yet so simple; most people including myself don’t even think about their value. We take such tiny mechanisms for granted.  They only get noticed when the nerves that move them don’t align themselves, and miss each other. That causes God’s perfectly designed rods and cones to break down and disintegrate.  Much like sandpaper.
     Sandpaper.  Its origin is sand.  No one really appreciates a single grain of sand until it and many other grains have been washed away to sea, or the lake or whatever body of water carries it away at tide.  It’s so gradual that people don’t see it.  The beach experiences erosion. And then the sands . That sand served as a soft comfortable path beneath many pairs of feet at the beach.  Last summer I read how they had to lug in tons of sand in by crane or bucket truck to fill up some of the beaches at the peninsula on Lake Erie  again. My vision loss is so gradual that I don’t see it. Who will pour  in new rods and cones behind my eyes when they wear out and disappear?
     At this point in my thoughts, God whispers to me. “Sweetheart, I am the Master Pourer.  Remember the story at the well of the woman who Jesus knew everything about? He offered her Living Water, something so flowing, so much in supply that she would never thirst for the temporary water again. I am pouring faith into you, and my supply will never disintegrate.  It will always form a soft carpet for you to place your feet and move forward in confidence. ”
     I meditate on the scripture  of how the night shines like day to my Father in heaven. I reflect on how the darkness doesn’t hide me from Him. So what does that mean to my life, God? Even when the holes fill up and the light filters out, God, does this mean You will shine the light before me? Will my faith sustain me? 
     Lord, please lead me,  scripture by scripture, to a deeper faith.  I don’t ever want to bring in a two-ton truck to fill in the empty spaces because the sands of my faith have been washed away due to neglect.  Father,
I pray for that deeper faith — for absolute trust in Your word and to know You better. I want to apply scripture to my life. I know the fears will come as the darkness takes precedence and my security is tested.
                                                 Fill me with that living faith
                                                 so when the grains of darkness wash it out to sea, 
                                                 again, you will pour it into me.
     Hey Father, how about if You and I take those life-enriching grains and build a beautiful sandcastle of faith together with turrets and gates and details so fine it will shine through Your supernatural light into the darkness that surrounds us all each day?
     It’s comforting to learn that darkness is as light to You.  None of us can see perfectly. But You can.
     Thank you for today’s Word that shines in my very real, physical blindness. Now, instead of each word filling me with dread, I see the hands of a loving father pouring faith into an imperfect daughter who looks forward in anticipation to an even more intimate faith.
     Only You can turn our fatal fears into fresh faith through Your living words.

Darkness is as light to Him
Spread the love
Tagged on:     

6 thoughts on “Darkness is as light to Him

  • January 28, 2012 at 3:01 pm

    Amy, your analogy with the sandpaper is awesome. Wow, you put the real feelings and share your experiences, all in the light of HIm who is our Light and our salvation–Jesus Christ. Hey, another speaks of Him as the LIght. John 1:5. Take care.

  • February 26, 2012 at 8:57 pm

    Hi Amy. I’ve been catching up on some of your recent posts. I’m so sorry your vision and hearing continue to deteriorate. I just love your analogies in this post and your thoughts of this journey as an “anticipation to an even more intimate faith.” I melt into tears when I read God’s whispers to you: “I am pouring faith into you, and my supply will never disintegrate. It will always form a soft carpet for you to place your feet and move forward in confidence.” Such inspiring thoughts! Thanks so much for sharing them. God is using them to strengthen and encourage me today.

  • September 24, 2012 at 12:32 am

    Amy, I’ve been reading some of your posts and love how you engage the reader. You’ve become a very good writer. Love your stories of being some very interesting situations, many unique to say the least. Love your analogy of losing sight so slowly, like grains of sand eroding the beach, Such a small thing but how it changes our total lives. Thanks for sharing your thoughts on Life and God.

  • September 29, 2012 at 3:35 am

    Thank you so much, Janet! You really encourged me tonight.
    God seems to be tapping me on the shoulder every time my cane taps up or down a stair or slides out in front of me: “I’m here. I’m here. I’m here.”
    Check back for more stories. 🙂
    God bless,

  • September 29, 2012 at 3:47 am

    Thank you so much for reading this blog post, Trudy!
    How is your writing going? Will you be able to go to Kansas City this November?
    I plan to and really hope we can have the opportunity to get together there and have lunch!
    Wishin you the best! Check back on my blog for more stories.
    Love, Amy

  • September 29, 2012 at 3:52 am

    Hi David,
    I forgot I could reply to those who respond to my stories.
    Thank you for reading my stories and for the scripture.
    Talk to you soon in Kansas City!
    Through Him,

Leave a Reply