Where Once Was Light
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I see the morning moving over the hills
I can see the shadows on the western side
And all those illusions that I had
They just vanish in Your light
I can feel the warmth of morning on my face
Though the chill in the night still hangs in the air
Though the storm had tossed me
'Til I thought I'd nearly lost my way
And now the night is fading and the storm is past
And everything that could be shaken was shaken
And all that remains is all I ever really had
What I'd have settled for
You've blown so far away
What You brought me to
I thought I could not reach
And I came so close to giving up
But You never did give up on me
I see the morning moving over the hills
I feel the rush of life here where the darkness broke
And I am in You and You're in me
Here where the winds of Heaven blow
And now the night is fading
And the storm is through
And everything You sent to shake me
From my dreams they come to wake me
In the love I find in You
And now the morning comes
And everything that really matters
Become the wings You send to gather me
To my home
To my home
I'm going home
Copyright 1988 - Rich Mullins
~~~~~~~
I found this song a little over a year ago. When I first read the lyrics I copied them down into my pen and ink journal. Underneath it I wrote: "One day I'm going to claim this song. One day it's going to happen and these words are no longer going to be a mockery at what I can't reach."
The day seems to have finally come, but now that it's here I'm not sure I have the faith to claim it. I'm scared.
At the beginning of this year I thought transcending into the new year would be like closing up and filing away the hurts and pain of the year before. I thought that I could move beyond the grasp of their reminders and with words spoken to me by my doctor, I thought it would be the year I'd get better. I held out my one last hope and I held my breathe.
If you hold your breathe, though, the punch hurts more and when it came I had no desire left to resist it. I know most of you think the treatments I received in April helped me...and in the long run they did. But at the time they made me sicker then I'd ever been. I never told any of you, but nearly every time I left the house that month I was in a wheelchair.
Most of you never knew because that's about the time I disappeared from online. I was badly allergic to the radiation from the computer, that was the truth, but more than that I was falling apart completely and I couldn't keep up a masquerade anymore. I'm not very good at being vulnerable. I'm one of those people that instinctively hides away until I'm ok. I share about it later.
I had learnt how not to hope anyway. Daring to hope was as vulnerable as I could get. I had learnt that everytime I hoped I only got smashed in the face. What then would happen if I was truly vulnerable? I don't think I ever really thought about it that plainly, but somehow I knew and in that knowing I knew I couldn't afford to try.
I learnt how to cry. I don't think I ever really knew what real tears were before getting sick. Before a bout of crying came rarely and I always felt better afterwards. Suddenly I found out there was another kind of crying that wrapped it's arms around your throat and choked you. I don't know how to describe the despair and fear except to say it's like getting shown a window into hell. The terror consumed me.
I remember one day night I just sat in front of the mirror and watched myself cry for two hours straight. By that time I was almost flirting with the depression. I knew when he came, how long he would stay, and in taking him in, I in my obstinance dared him to destroy me forever.
That's why this Christmas was so important to me. Last Christmas is something I don't want to remember. I was in so much pain and I was such a mess I had to go to bed after lunch and I slept while my family was out swimming in the pool. I had held out a hope that at least Christmas could be a good day, and yet again I'd gotten smashed in the face.
It was almost like I was Gideon this year as Christmas approached. I've slowly been getting better and when I realized there was a possibility this Christmas could be good I made a subconscious bet with myself. If it was good then it ment the fleece was wet and the ground all about it dry--it ment I was getting better.
Well, it happened. I had a wonderful Christmas. I got five hours sleep the night before. I had only a headache, and I only had to take a short nap before lunch. It seems that I've gotten well enough to control my symptons enough to pull out a good day when I need it.
That ment a lot to me. For so long I've felt so helpless, at the mercy of the disease inside me. When three months ago I had two good weeks in a row, I pulled out the song "Home" and wondered if maybe the time had come.
But something went wrong. My Mum went away down south for ten days, and a new pain I hadn't had before hit me. For seven days I didn't get any sleep, and by the time my Mum rang Saturday morning I was crying before I'd even gotten out of bed for the day. I didn't know how I could take anymore. I raged for days at God for letting me mistake the feeble yellow flame of a candle for the glorious warming rays of the sun.
But though it was tiny I held onto that little candle. Every now and then I got a good day and when it came I'd hold the candle and tell myself that at least I had this one light. The candle became almost like my belated hope. I lived believing there was nothing between me and the darkness--it was the only way I found not to get hurt--and so when the candle came I believed and hoped in it only on the days I had it in my hands.
Then this month happened. I remembered the song and now that the end of this year is here I want to believe that the dawn as really come. I need to know next year will be a new day. I can't keep on as I am, I know that. But when I think about it I realize that to find out if there is shadows on the western side of the mountain I have to first let go this one little flame--I have to first dare to hope the dawn is there to keep the dark from consuming me.
I want to believe it could be true, but then I remember how cold the dark can get and I discover anew just how real the terror is. I'm not sure I have faith enough to blow out the candle.
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