Each time I see my youngest grandchildren we play this little game . . .
“Are you getting taller?” I make sure I really groan this out.
They come at me, face to face, put their hand on the top of their head and compare their height to mine. Sometimes their measuring guide isn’t too accurate, but that’s always beside the point. Even if it was just yesterday, they have managed to grow.
That’s when I push down on their heads and scold them, “That’s enough! Stop it! No more growing!”
Then they squint their eyes and scrunch up their nose and boast that nothing’s going to stop them from passing me up someday. I relent. Of course, there isn’t. But I still pout really big . . . for real.
There aren’t many things in this world that stay the same. As much as I want a grandchild always shorter than me, most likely it won’t ever be. They’ll grow. They’ll change. They’ll live in a world constantly changing around them. I’ll keep changing too.
Maybe in time, like me, it will be hard for them to keep up with the ever-changing world of a new this or that. If I have one more update on my phone, I just might go find me a land-line with a twenty-foot cord! Many of you know what I’m talking about.
Without getting down on progress—I like the new and improved most of the time—there’s a need in our lives for things to stay the same. Constant. Familiar. Something to hang our hat on. No wondering. No guessing. No surprises. No new learning curve every two minutes.
When I turned out the lights last night, a bright hook stared me in the face—a solar jar of lights given to me by a friend just that morning.
Then it dawned on me . . . Light! Now there’s a hook!
Light travels at a constant . . . read that again . . . constant finite speed at 186,282 miles per second in a vacuum! Whoa! Crazy fast! This means all moonlight we see is 1.255 seconds old! Get your head around that! A round-trip between the Earth and moon at light speed takes about 2.51 seconds! (Sometimes these laws of physics can be so soothing.)
As I look at this ball of sparkle, I’m reminded . . .
I can depend on the stars to shine.
I can expect shadows on the new fallen snow at the end of a day.
I can trust the giant solar star to wake me in the morning.
Then the aha moment . . . the lights in space were hung there by the greatest Light of all—Jesus, the Light of the world.
Thankfully, this Light isn’t only here when the tree is up, the presents wrapped, or when family gathers around the table. He’s here because he’s always been. All he ever was, he still is. Hope. Salvation. Peace.
He can’t grow taller than me because he’s already way beyond me. Beyond but present. Before me. Beside me. Below me. Behind me. Above me.
This Light permeates everywhere. . . even in the darkness. Especially in the darkness. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.
Light reveals, guides, and wakes me in the morning. I can depend on it. Expect it to show up. Trust it won’t go out.
The Light of the world is my hook.
And that’s something I’ll hang my hat on.
Take a look at these books with your little stars this season and find the Light that never changes.
And for the science buff in your house . . .
Happy Light-filled Year!