Living light is a long road of discarding heavy burdens. It is inside out and upside down; gloryless and sometimes hopeless. Living light is living with less and giving more. It is redefining beauty by the scars on your heart and the balm of being loved anyway. Living light is what happens when we relinquish our power for our strength; when we abandon our expectations for our contentment; when we surrender our rights for the ability to see everyone clearly.
Living light is what happens when Jesus smears mud on our blind eyes, caking dirt over our weakness and calling forth our healing. It's what happens when we press in, afflicted and broken and weeping, fingers reaching for the slightest brushing of his robe. That touch will be enough. It's what happens when our sin is exposed and we're thrown headfirst into the dirt we've walked through every day of our lives. It's what happens when accusations rise like stones in clenched fists. It's what happens when the moment swells and our grief explodes in our chests. It's what happens when mercy comes bursting forth instead of punishment. It's what happens when we stop defending, stop justifying, stop running. Living light is what happens when our shame dissipates; when the ripples of our guilt are consumed by a great a wave. That wave is enough.
Living light is what we were created for. Free. Unhindered. Restored. Revived. Unmasked.
It's a long road, family. It's a long road, but it's contagious. Light spreads. It creeps into dark corners and ruined cities. It floods broken hearts and weary bodies. It started in a stable, in the dark. It sparked the night of every captive and it has never stopped. The Light grew and spoke and touched and healed. The Light rescued and loved and affirmed. The Light shifted the weight of the world, calling messy people into His warmth. The Light burst into an ancient darkness and the darkness ran. It fled.
Once I was a captive, crawling through dense, suffocating darkness. Once I was ruled by rules and expectations and words that weren't His. Once I was in darkness, but now I'm in the light.
Listen, weary heart. Press in. Relinquish. Stop to breathe and then give some more. The Light is your invitation too. Not for a moment or a week or a year. The Light is your invitation to live - to fully live. Live scarred, but free. Live with a story and with the lingering sensation of the hand that healed you. Live without expectation, but with calling. Live without fear, but with mercy.