Friday, January 7, 2011


Live in rooms full of light. ~Cornelius Celsus

After I finished putting away the breakfast dishes this morning, this is where I found August.  He had climbed up into the gloriously deep window sills that our stone house provides, surrounded himself with blankets and cushions, and settled in for the day. 

You know, the day that we first saw this house, before we had even made an offer on it, one of the first conclusions that I came to was that someone should do this very thing.  Moreover, we should be the people to do it.

I'm glad that August heeded the call. 

With the morning sun pouring in--buckets full--he settled in.

What is it about the sun that calls to something so deep inside of us? 

Is it the gentle way that it seeps into our skin...reaching even deeper still...warming places that we didn't even realize were cold?

Or is it the way that it, literally, changes the skin we're in...leaving tattoos of its face across our bodies?

All I know is that on these mornings when it is still dark when I rise, when I don't know whether to curse or bless my dog for getting me out of bed and moving soooo is on these days, especially, that I look to the East with such expectancy and anticipation.  Practically willing the sun into the sky is one of my first productive acts of the day.

I need that Sun

And it always does.

This morning, after tinging the edges of night's cheeks with pink, it jumped up, full of fire and energy.  It flooded into our living room, through those very windows that August settled into, and filled the room with its power.

Slowly, the chill wore off.

The cushions of the sofa absorbed its radiance.

The patterns of the carpet played in their own shadows.

And then
you could see it.

Dust.  Dirt.  Dinge.


It hit and stung like a slap on the face that came out of nowhere, catching me completely off guard and utterly defenseless.  And suddenly I felt so very vulnerable, exposed, revealed.  The reality of my home--the one that I had so successfully hidden in the dark nooks and crannies--was immediately brought into the fullness of light.

You see, I am not the greatest housekeeper.  Some days I'm better at it than others.  Some days I get my act together and I manage to clear surfaces, tidy up floors, maybe even scrub a toilet or two.  On days that my parents are coming, or a playdate or... well, those days I am almost always competent at it.  I lean into the task headlong and early, and I twirl throught the house like a whirling dervish.  Like a woman bewitched, I transform my house into something it normally is not. 

I dress to impress.

But those kinds of days are the exception and I'm not proud of how I arrive at the outcome anyway.  It's all very pretentious really. 

But on the regular, ordinary, quotidian day...

there is dust.

That's what that persnickety sunlight will do.  It reveals too much.

"He shines a spotlight into caves of darkness,
hauls deepest darkness into the noonday sun."
Job 12:22 (The Message)

I think about this.  I look about me, at all that is revealed about me,
who I am, really,
and I am tempted to despair.

But then I read it again.  He chooses to fetch his brightest spotlight, the one that could blind the eyes if he wanted it to, and he begins the hunt.
To reach into my deepest, darkest places and


It's no accident.  It's not a trick or conniving behavior or tomfoolery.

It's what he does.  His nature.

He brings darkness into light.

"I will lead the blind on roads
they have never known;
I will guide them on paths
they have never traveled.
Their road is dark and rough,
but I will give light
to keep them from stumbling.
This is my solemn promise."
Isaiah 42:16 (CEV)

He has promised to.

But I would really rather he keep the dust hidden, for it doesn't reflect well on me.  I like that he reveals the way for me but, as far as I am concerned, that pesky dust can just remain behind me, in my shadow.  Light and shadow, as it should be.

But I can't have it both ways.

With my darkness comes light.  In fact, the deeper my darkness, the brighter the Light.

I have a choice to make.  Keep the dust hidden and risk bumping into something else that is hidden right beside it.  Something that I didn't even know was there, even.  Or I had forgotten.  Chose to forget, actually.


I can tear open the shutters and throw open the sash.  I can let him into my caves of darkness.  Let him haul out all of the bags and boxes of darkness, into that noonday sun.

Today, and everyday, I must choose light.

"...sun is shining, the weather is sweet
make you want to move your dancing feet
to the rescue, here i am
want you to know just if you can
where i stand, no, no, no, no, where i stand
sun is shining, sun is shining..."
Bob Marley


  1. Holly, I wanted you to know that that exquisite twist of poetry you have the gift of giving to your writing gave me much pleasure this morning(1:14 am). You had me, you really had me, with the beautiful description of the sunlight coming in your windows, but I laughed my butt off when I got to your zinger about seeing the dust bunnies in its light!
    Thank you, my friend; you made my day, although I'm pretty positive I'm going to wake up at 3 o'clock... okay, 6 o'clock in the morning, laughing my fool head off over that imagery.

  2. Marly,
    I'm so glad that you stopped by and that you were able to find something with which to connect. It's funny how some of the simplest things have the deepest meaning. Again, thanks for reading.

  3. This is such a beautiful post!