A Flashlight In The Dark

The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.

No human is immune to suffering. The dark night descends on all of us at one point or another, an unwelcome guest that takes residence in our soul. When darkness seems to hide the face of God, our first natural inclination is to hide our face from others. We try to conceal the pain, disguise the fear, protect the wound.

I’ve walked through many of these dark nights myself, the most recent after having my third child. I hit a low spot a month and a half postpartum.

Weeping uncontrollably, with my hands covering my makeup-free, tearstained face, I sat on a metal chair in my doctor’s office with a nurse consoling me, handing me tissues, and listening to my grief. She offered her own postpartum story as a shared bond.

Dr. B., a sister in Christ, came in and crouched down next to me so she could be at my eye level. Rather than towering above me, as most doctors do, she stooped low, touched my shoulder, and gave me both the hope of the gospel for my soul and the help of medicine for my body. I received her words of wisdom with clenched fists, wanting to shoo away the clouds of depression on my own, frustrated that I needed help in the first place. I wasn’t ready to receive it yet, but God was providing healing in his own, higher way (see Isaiah 55:8-9).

Back at home, friends showed up, one by one. They provided meals and went grocery shopping for me. They cleaned my fridge, handed me bowls of watermelon to snack on, prayed for me, allowed me to cry on their shoulders, and sent care packages in the mail when they were too far away to come in person. Texts saying, “I’m praying for you” were like beams of hope, flashlights in the darkness.

They understood. They cared. Their presence reminded me that God understands. He cares. And he provides—through his Word and his people.

During that season, it felt like an insurmountable task to even open my Bible. The pages seemed to be glued together, and the words jumbled in my mind when I tried to read them. Smiling felt impossible, healing seemed far off, and crocodile tears were the norm. And yet God prompted me to show my tearstained face to my friends, neighbors, and church family. He blew away the clouds that seemed to hide his face, showing me that the Son still shines, even when a storm blows in.

In this dark night of my soul, when sleep would not come and joy felt impossible, the Good Shepherd made me lie down, restored my soul, and invited me to rest in his unchanging grace (see Psalm 23). He offered me flashlights in the darkness that came in the form of the words, help, and presence of my family and friends. Their presence, along with the Scriptures I’d stored in my heart in the years prior, were lifelines for my soul.

The torrent of tears has dried up since then, but the memory of that time can never be erased. No matter what storm we weather, the sun always shines again. And no matter what dark night of the soul we endure, we know that God sees our face and hears our voice. Regardless of how bleak things look, he always shines a flashlight of gospel hope into the darkness.

Word before World When we cannot see God’s hand at work, he provides flashlights in the dark through the presence of his people and the promises of his Word.

Grow in Grace Think back on a time when a dark night descended on your soul and you couldn’t see God at work. How did he provide flashlights to remind you of his power, protection, and presence?