When You're Sitting in the Dark

I used to think darkness was the absence of God. I really did.

When my mother died, I stopped praying. Not because I was angry. I was just too tired. The words felt hollow. The silence felt like confirmation that nobody was listening.

But here's what I didn't understand then: the seed doesn't grow in the light. It grows underground, in the dark, where no one can see it. And for months, maybe years, it looks like nothing is happening.

That was me. Underground. Looking dead to everyone, including myself.

One night I couldn't sleep. This was maybe eight months in. And I walked outside at 3am. The sky was clear. Just stars, everywhere. And it hit me: I hadn't looked up in months. I'd been staring at my feet the whole time.

I didn't hear a voice. I didn't feel a breakthrough. But I felt... seen. Like whatever made those stars also made me, and knew exactly where I was standing at 3am in my pajamas, crying on the sidewalk.

That was enough to take the next breath. And the next one.

If you're in the dark right now, I'm not going to tell you to look for the light. I'm going to tell you: the dark is holy too. God is in the dark. God made the dark. And you are not alone in it.

"In the depth of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer." Albert Camus

Take one more breath. That's all. Just one.