Over the past few weeks, I have twice been startled awake by the repeated cries, "Dad! Daaaaaaad! Daaaaaaad!" On both occassions, I rushed into my five-year-old's room to find him cocooned in his top bed sheet, a chrysalis of tears and whimpers.
"What's wrong buddy?"
"I'm scared."
"What are you scared of?"
"The dark."
My first thought, "Me too." I not ashamed to admit, I'm scared of the dark. I'm scared of the darkness of cancer and terminal illness. I'm scared of the darkness of genocide and repressive violence. I'm scared of the darkness of global sex-trafficking. I'm scared of the darkness of starvation and poverty. I'm scared of the darkness of foreclosure, bankrupcy and economic ruin. Mostly, I'm scared of the darkness in my own heart.
The day after my son's first cry in the dark we bought him a spaceship night light. After the second, we agreed to let him keep his door open through the night.
Of late I've been crying out in the night, "Dad! Daaaaaaad! Daaaaaaad!" The darkness has closed in, but I'm once again discovering those well-worn words, "Light of the world you stepped down into darkness opened my eyes let me see beauty that makes this heart adore You hope of a life spent with You."
