The darkened sensuous whisper. The persistent reaching. The waving shadows they pester me as night’s damp sleepy embrace slides the tips of his chilled fingers along my small warm arms. I jerk away clamoring to capture in my hands, my mind, my soul, one last ray from the slowly descending sun. I cannot leave you—alone.
As a child I ran those fields stomping on tiny, wild yellow flowers until the lightening bugs appeared. I captured as much of that light as those jars would hold, but even glowing mason glasses couldn’t stay away the night. Whether friend or foe it came knocking just as timely as the whistling evening train.
Not that the night was all bad, but the day altogether better—the time when I’m most alive. It’s the part of me that never dies—craving the light with an urgency to capture it into an extended hug, to squeeze it until it begs to stay.
So here I am, the day has fallen off the landscape and I’m left with a certain regret that I didn’t make better use of the light. Too many suns have come and gone while my list remains just that, a list. I check-off a few items, yet many more tasks remain. I don’t know where the day wandered off to.
Perhaps, there’s tomorrow and it will once again give me an opportunity to work with renewed vigor. I’ll say what I intended to say, write what I hoped to scribble down on paper, and call my brother. I’ll begin to read another book. And I’ll encourage a friend. I’ll text my granddaughters. If the light continues to shine, I’ll sit out back in my pajamas and watch those crazy golfers attempt to hit a ball.
Jesus walked through the valley of my despair, right into the night of my sorrow, offering me another chance to redeem my wasted life. He breathed sun into my soul and sent me soaring. I’ll be forever grateful for this opportunity. It’s a sort of second chance among many to seize the day, to bottle the light, to bring it inside for a little while longer.