My Lamp is Lit, I Have No Fear

     It’s dark outside.

     I come home, and there are no lights, only a faint glow from the patterned glass in the front door.

     It feels bleak and austere, the degree of darkness magnified by the recent and sudden disappearance of Christmas.

     A week ago, the front door was bathed in an amber glow enhanced by greenery and velvet ribbon. The wreaths on the front windows were highlighted by a flood of focused warmth and appeared to have halos, the result of the single electric candles in each. It was welcoming and understated and warm.

     Then, one day, it was not. The darkness was consuming. Our front door is set back a little, deep into the porch. Without the light of Christmas, it was cavernous. It’s not any more.

     I changed out the light bulbs on the front porch lantern. It now shines like a beacon into the dark cold. Because it’s not practical to leave the lights on while we are gone I added a string of cool white LED lights in the urn beside the front door. The light is cool, icy, almost blue. It’s fitting for the season. But that light is still cold.

     I need more.

     I’m considering moving a floor lamp into our dining room. It is those windows that overlook the front porch. Covered by eyelid blinds, it is as if the house is asleep. It is still and quiet and clearly says “do not disturb.” The lamp does not make sense on the inside, a pointless addition. Who puts a floor lamp in the dining room?

     But outside, outside it would pierce the darkness and hint at the life happening inside. It would say, “Welcome, on this cold winter’s day. Come in and sit a spell.”

      It is powerful, physical and spiritual.

     Again Jesus spoke to them, saying, "I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will not walk in darkness, but will have the light of life." John 8:12

     Kentucky poet Madison Julian Cawein understood this need:

Like some gaunt ghost the tempest wails

Outside my door; its icy nails

Beat on the pane: and Night and Storm

Around the house, with furious flails

Of wind, from which the slant sleet hails,

Stalk up and down; or, arm in arm,

Stand giant guard; the wild-beast lair

Of their fierce bosoms black and bare.

My lamp is slit, I have no fear.

     That is what I want: light, a sense of welcome, a beacon to weary college students, an conqueror of fear. I want light, glorious, glowing and warm.