Living in the Light 

I never realized how much I'd learn being a parent. It seems that every little humorous or semi-traumatic parenting episode is being used by God to teach me a major lesson. I recall one such morning around 4 years ago.

My nearly-two-year-old was sitting on the couch munching on her breakfast (the ritual juice and grapes) happily giggling at Telletubbies. Since I have little tolerance for that particular show ("Tinky Winky TAY!") I decided that this was the perfect moment for me to sneak away and have a quick shower. Our home is teeny, which means that the main bathroom is exactly 4 'grown-up-steps' from the couch where Anneka was sitting.

Everything was going perfect. I ran the shower and quickly hopped in. I have a very simple and quick shower routine. In and out, in a snap. I was half way through the "washing of the hair" when all of a sudden the bathroom went completely dark. Black. Not a stitch of light. I panicked. Did the power fail? Anneka was safe in a sun-filled living room, so she was okay I concluded. Then I heard a teeny little croak. "Mommy, baf? Mommmmiiiieeeee BAAFFFF??"

I'd personally like to meet the person who designed my home. I have many beefs at this particular moment. None as huge, however as the question of WHY they put the light switches at almost waist level. Perhaps the home was custom made for some "vertically challenged" adults...I don't know. But it's also custom built for the average toddler.

Anneka had reached up and flipped the light off. We've been having these discussions with her about light switches over the last week. They go a little something like this.

(Anneka flips off the switch)
"Anneka, don't touch."
(Switch flips on again.)
"Mommy said "NO", Sweetie"
(Switch flips off again.)
"ANNEKA!"
.........this is usually followed by the "time out for light-switch-touching" routine. Needless to say, this is an area of obedience that needs improvement in our home.

I should also mention that Anneka's love for 'Bob the Tomato' is closely followed by her love for water. Drinking, dipping or splashing in any amount of water...especially the bath. (or as she says, the "Baf".) When the water starts running...you can be sure you'll hear her thump her way across the house and begin her mantra. "Mommy, BAF?? Baf mommy? Baf? Baf?" (translation "Mother, at this particular moment in time, I request the immediate use of the Bath Tub")

But I digress. So lets return to me in the shower, shall we?

Here I am in absolute darkness. I start to slightly panic as soap runs down my face and into my mouth. The taste is disgusting, and it adds to the desperation of my situation. I can hear Anneka happily playing outside the door, and dare I say.....giggling at her accomplishment. Between the spitting-out of the soap in my mouth, I begin to call out every command I can think of to communicate to this child of mine.
"Anneka, light on!"
"Anneka, switch up!"
"Anneka, that's a fun game....do it again; OFF, ON!"
"Anneka, can you help Mommy turn on the light?"

She must understand ONE of those I conclude. Evidently she doesn't.

Still darkness.

At that moment I resigned myself to two things. First; the light is not coming back on, no matter what I sputter through the damp void...and second; I have a limited amount of hot water left for this shower.

I begin to rapidly proceed though my routine in the complete black-out. First rinsing suds from my hair (and mouth)...and then feeling my way around the perimeter of the tub for the conditioner. FOUND IT! I congratulate myself as I continue to re-lather up my hair. I'm oddly surprised at how easy this is! I even know instinctively where the hot water tap is...and just how much I need to tweak it to keep my shower warm. I'm strangely amused. I'm able to rinse the hair, find the soap, find the LOOFA! (I kid you not!) and have an almost-normal shower experience without a bit of light. I reached for the towel, dried off...and opened the door to find Anneka sitting happily on the floor, smiling.

"Mommy, BAF??"

As I later put Anneka down for her morning nap, I laughed about the entire episode. Then it struck me.


I didn't like how adaptable I became in the absence of light.


I didn't like it at all. I didn't like the fact that I could function so easily without the benefit of sight. I didn't like that I adapted so easily to such a major disabling. No sight. No Light. Just instinct.

Jesus described Himself as the very "Light of the World". What a fitting description.
So I asked myself:


"How dependant am I, really, on Jesus for direction?"


Do I count on His light to show the way? Or do I simply fumble my way through on my own...relying on instinct and tradition?? I began to think about how many major decisions I make during my week, during my life...and how often I 'forget' to ask for God's Eyes and Ears to make a wise decision. In fact, people are able to live a "Christian" life, do "Christian" things...and yet sometimes operate almost completely on their own. (By instinct or simply living through the repetition or routine of the Christian-ese lifestyle".) And if we find ourselves operating on auto-pilot without Jesus....can we even call ourselves "Christians"? How legitimate is our claim then, to the title of "Follower of Jesus", or "Friend of God".
Wow. Scary thought.

"Amazing what a simple shower can teach me." I laughed.

So this is my new personal crusade. I want God to be the light by which I make all decisions...by which I move in every instance. I don't want to take one step without His Spirit, His Word, His Light before, behind and around me. I don't want to adapt to Lightlessness, I don't want to get used to making it alone. I need, I want Jesus.

The Psalmist obviously had a similar toddler/shower experience:

How sweet are your words to my taste,
sweeter than honey to my mouth!
(much sweeter than soap too!)
I gain understanding from your precepts;
therefore I hate every wrong path.
Your word is a lamp to my feet
and a light for my path.


Psalm 119:103-105