Light in Darkness

Musing about the in-between in the midst of an in-between

I said I wouldn’t subscribe to another writer’s Substack. That lasted about 33.3 days.

I’m a sucker for supporting other creatives. I think it’s in my DNA. My mom wrote a book; my dad was an incredibly talented artist. So is my husband. My son writes, draws, acts, and plays a mean guitar. My daughter is a fabulous painter and cook.

When I was 6, I got my very first journal. Later, around age 10, I moved from the pink journal with a golden lock (never locked, but thought I needed that lock) to a red fabric journal. It had tiny teddy bear heads all over the Christmas-red fabric. (You guys, 10. It’s a whole thing—and 10 today is like 14 when I was growing up, so there.)

Anyway… I think I was destined to write in some form or another. But in one of those earlier journals, I wrote down these words: When I grow up, I want to be a writer.

I say all this to say, “I can’t NOT support other creatives, whether they’re photographers, muralists, designers, writers, spoken word poets, actors, directors…” You get the idea.

So I signed up for a new Substack subscription, and wouldn’t you know it? The first one I read is a prompt called “Darkness and Light.” (It’s #275 of The Isolation Journals with Suleika Jaouad.)

Whenever I hear the terms dark and light mentioned in quick succession, I think of the obvious. My daughter. (You thought I was going to say, “God,” didn’t you?) :-)

Actually, God did play into her name because my husband and I both wanted a name with meaning, one that represented His presence in our lives. But we ultimately chose her name based on one that my son (he was three and a half when she was born) assertively announced one day to all of our family. We had three names that we were mulling over, and one day, he started telling family members, teachers, and friends that her name would be ___ (one of the three we were still considering).

We didn’t officially go with his choice until she was actually born, but yes, he was correct. While that name carries several meanings, one of them is darkness. Her middle name, which we’d chosen long before she was born, is one we wanted to give her out of honor.

A close friend of mine is just one of those people whom you admire. You know her for five minutes or five years, and you become one of her advisees. She’s got wisdom oozing from her bones, yet she is nearly a decade younger than me. Hard knocks and suffering will do that to a person; she has also wrestled with her faith. So we chose that name for my daughter out of honor and a desire that she, too, would be a wise person. Guess what it means?

“Clear and light.”

So, if you look at her name from the middle to the first, it means “light in the darkness.”

Why have you just read a discourse about my daughter’s naming journey?

She is about to undergo a life-altering surgery, one we’ve been assured will have a great outcome. We trust the surgeon. She’s in competent hands at the children’s hospital.

Still, it’s a surgery we never saw coming. She’s been relatively healthy for over a decade. But then something was seen on a test—a routine test to manage a condition she has. Mind you, it’s a rare condition, but still. Nothing life-threatening.

When you get the call that something was caught, a “found foreigner” in your daughter’s body, time stops a little.

The nurses want you to have someone with you. “Isn’t your husband here? Do you want us to call anyone?”

Well, it’s too late, but thanks for the offer.

Tears well up, but then I remember, “She’s right outside this room. Gathering her stuff, ready to go onto the party.” But we’re not going to the party, not after this.

The news sinks in a little, and I hear the words “can’t tell 100% but probably benign.” That takes away the sting of the unknown.

But then you realize you’re headed somewhere totally different than you thought. You were going to have a few days off to finish Christmas shopping and clean the house. She was headed to a party.

It’s in the in-between moments, the moments between where we thought we’d be and where we’re headed, that a cloud of particles dusting your brain starts to fall like fresh snow. Almost in a dream-like state, you’re clear-headed enough to drive and figure out the next steps: who to call, what to rearrange, and the address to punch into your GPS.

But the in-between means you’re not yet at your next stop. You’re also not where you were: planting your thoughts on temporal things like wrapping paper and Amazon gifts.

Then, after more tests and more doctors and more news, we schedule surgery for three weeks out. More in between. More living in the not-yet but also the not-quite-where-we-were.

We decide to make this Christmas exactly what it should be: Christmas. Nativity. A reflection on the birth of Jesus. A family time where we hold fast to traditions like hot cocoa and viewing Christmas lights in the fancy neighborhood on the hill.

Light in the darkness.

Just like waiting to get into the entrance of the neighborhood that is now locally famous for its lights (even accepting donations for charity), we line up with other cars, head to head, patiently getting behind each other, trying not to push or pull but simply idle as our eyes gloss over at the green, red, blue, and white lights.

Simply be here now.

The in-between isn’t glamorous, but it is the stuff of living, isn’t it? How we handle the not-yet is telling.

It speaks to our experience with expectations, disappointments, suffering, dreaming, little wins and big victories, celebrations, and dashed hopes. It speaks to our wandering, our tussle with faith, and the definitions of our own making: who we are, who others around us are, and how we mix those to form… what? A community? A family? A neighborhood with a common goal, to display lights that bring thousands of children joy every December?

I think we all hope we’re gonna be the exception during the in-between time. Light in the darkness mixed with hope, belief, and faith in a greater outcome.

But in honesty?

I think it’s okay to just be who we are right now, whether that is laser-focused on the destination, planning ahead, or living in yesterday’s ignorance. It’s okay to knock the fears of others to the side and defiantly declare, “I’m not there yet,” even if it’s a whisper that only we can hear.

A crack in the door between our bedroom and the bathroom keeps our room from ever feeling too dark. I can always glance over and see the sliver of light from the hallway, passing through the bathroom, and get my bearings.

Light in the darkness is sometimes just getting your bearings. You get out of bed, walk to the bathroom, and know where you are right now.

And that’s enough for today.

P.S. If you want to check out some of my friends on Substack and some of the new friends I started following this week, try THE ISOLATION JOURNALS WITH SULEIKA JAOUAD and 5 Big Ideas by Jen Hitze. Or head to my recommendations where a ton of others offer irresistible reading material for those in-between moments. Or the seasons we like to call life.