I have a few defining moments in my relationship with God that I seem to circle back to as an anchor for a season, or an emotion or a theme that seems to continually wind its way around me. And the one that’s come back into my life in recent months that I finally feel out of to talk about is simply the constant image of the nightlight in my life.

I went through the probably the absolute darkest time of my life in 2008-2009. I was on meds, both of my parents had health issues, I had just gotten out of a classroom environment that was not good for me and I was feeling so much more than I was capable of dealing with.

I was thankfully in therapy and trying to do as much as I could.

But, the darkness and the things around me felt like too much.

It was a Sunday morning. It’s one of the images that stay in my brain despite my desire to not remember it so clearly. I was looking at myself in my bathroom mirror and I stared hard at myself and just thought the words “maybe it would just be better if I wasn’t here anymore”.

And then I closed my eyes.

When I closed my eyes I saw myself standing in an incredibly dark room and in the corner of the room I saw it. It was a dim, dim nightlight. It was down at the corner of the wall, where the light socket was. One of those rectangular ones that you get at the dollar store with a yellow light and a flimsy cover.

I will never forget that picture in my brain and how for all of my life since then when I’ve found myself in places of darkness I’ve come back to it. I’ve come back to the reminder that the darkness could not completely snuff out the light.

To be completely and utterly honest in ways I don’t love to be; I needed this image a few months ago. I was trudging. And one night I was in the shower and I sat down and I sobbed and sobbed and let the water engulf me and had the thought crossed my mind about just staying in the water. (Don’t worry mom, I’m ok).

And I sat in my shower sobbing I saw that light again and I got up and I shook it off and I kept (pardon my French) fucking going.

Because, at the end of the day, that’s what I was going to do. I was going to get up no matter what and keep going.

That brings me to today.

I didn’t go to church yesterday because cramps and no sleep but, I listened to church at work this morning to help get me out of a Monday mood.

When we got to the activation at the end, the thing I heard God say while I scooped pasta was “you’re still light”.

In all honesty, I just thought of that nightlight picture and really just believed his light was still there. That the darkness couldn’t drown it out.

That MY darkness couldn’t drown it out.

I knew though, that there was something there, something I needed to untangle.

Something that needed to become undone.

I didn’t realize that the thing the needed to be undone was a narrative I’ve kept close for 15 years.

The narrative being that the nightlight was just God.

The thing that was stronger than the darkness around it. The thing that has still been lit in the rooms that feel devoid of light wasn’t just God.

It was me.

Because no matter how dark my world has felt, no matter how much I wanted to just stop moving;

I’m still light.

Last year when I went through my identity work with my pastor and my people and kind of met myself where I didn’t know I needed too, the picture I saw was one of a home with a candle in the window.

A small, soft light that was always on, welcoming those that need it in.

No matter what I’ve believed about myself the light will always shine through.

That feels more important than I even know how to articulate.

I’ve always been afraid of the things that feel dark in my life. That the darkness is something that can engulf me, that it can dampen the light that I believed was outside of me- not a light that I brought myself. That the darkness was me.

We all bring something to the table. We all have something inside of us that the humans around us need.

And I hope that for all my days the light I am shines on what you bring.

And that I never forget that my ability to keep the darkness at bay.

A narrative in my life changed today over wontons and bubbly and people watching.

Here’s a reminder that no matter how long you’ve held onto something you always have the ability to realize that it’s not what you think it is.

With love,

Meg