Your Light

It's been a long day, but I don't want to shut my eyes for sleep until I write these things down. I don't want the memory of these things to slip away to some place where I cannot find them later. Before leaving the house this morning, I read these words: let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven. 

I know that you are special, Father. I think of this scripture, and I am filled with humility at the thought of your essence, your guiding light, residing in me. As I close my eyes and try to accept what the words mean, I can see that a bright, white light fades away, and that flashes of color begin to pulsate through me instead. It reminds me of what I felt when I read the pages near the back of your book. I used to think you were the most narrow God. Even in color. Even in shape. But your light is like the cosmic bursts that we chase down with our telescopes and satellites in the black of night. Your light is moving, changing, beaming, sparkling, burning, reaching, and much too worthy for me.

Thank you for the pictures you give. The place in my head where you paint things that I'll never be able to put on a page. For intimacy.