I remember when the call came in. I remember the fear, the anguish, the panic. But more so, I remember the darkness. Because when you find out that someone you love is in the hospital, it’s easy for your heart to give way to that darkness.
I knew what had happened. I had seen the cuts etched along his arms for years. They started small and faint, popping up along his wrists in colors of red and purple. But I noticed when they started to grow, when the skin gave way to deeper and deeper wounds and the coagulated blood began to create dark, plump notches on top of his smooth arms.
My tears flowed down deep into the darkness that day, they flowed down deep into fear. But there’s a beautiful thing that happens once your eyes have adjusted to the dark. You’re able to clearly see the Light, and He gently pursues all of those tiny shadows on our hearts. And sometimes it’s only in the midst of the storm that you see Him there, the Light—waiting, calling, nudging you through.
That Light has grown brighter in the years after the incident. I see it everyday. I see it in the faded wounds on his arms and all of the small ways his circumstance has taught us and bonded us.
There is hope in every crisis. There is light in every shadow. There is Christ in every cross. And it is because of this that “we are afflicted in every way, but not constrained; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed” (2 Corinthians 4:8-9). Light is always there, beckoning us with hope, with life.
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Let the light in. He will illuminate your darkness.
Brittany Calavitta is an enthusiastic advocate for a good book, strong coffee, and a hopeful heart. After battling years of infertility, she and her husband welcomed their first child on September 11, 2016. You can find out more about her here.