A Reflection on Fractured Refractions

Updated: Mar 24, 2019

It’s raining.

Again.

And I’m pretty sure I’m experiencing the emotional whiplash of turbulent weather systems. Anyone else? Last weekend, I awoke to snow covered garage roofs and gardens. I was then forced to abandon what should have been a refreshing walk with friends due to the piercing coldness of the ever buffeting wind before, finally, topping off the day - and, indeed, my face - by applying ‘after sun’ to my bright red cheek (that’s right, just the one) after driving the two hours back to London in scorching motorway sunshine. The right side of my face was defenceless. I loved it though. For those two hours, the sun suffused my skin as it streamed through the driver’s side window. My mind danced through warm, dusky memories. It was soo good.

And now. Well, now we’ve had Storm Gareth (continues to make me chuckle) and all sorts of weather shenanigans. Whether it’s the ongoing maelstrom that is Westminster at the moment, or the violent rumblings of New Zealand, darkness reverberates threatening to drown out and eclipse any memory or experience of the sun’s light.

It streams in, burning us, before cruelly and brutally withdrawing itself.

When the weather fluctuates, often too does my heart. It reminds me of all of those glimpses of goodness.


Glimpses.


They never stayed for long. You say goodbye. Friends go home. The party dies down, and all you’re left with is the cleaning up to do. Forever filling black bags with the empty remnants of receptacles of life.


Stay. Please, stay.


But they don’t, and they won’t. These shards of light seem to refract, bouncing off of us, diverting their course. They strike us only to move on. Like the domino effect, perpetual movement, little remaining.

At least, not yet.

I long for light. Light that fills all, banishing all shadows. A movement that remains. Other-centred, yet personal. Dynamic, yet static. Filling, yet thirsting. Found, yet walking further. Each step leading out and on into more, not less.

The dawning of new days with light that doesn’t leave or burn or diminish.

I am longing for the Spring. I am longing for those shoots of new life, hope, a declarative ‘no’ to death and darkness, and a triumphant ‘yes’ to all that is good and bright.

Light, light, light, and even more light.

Post tenebras spero lucem.

(“After darkness, I hope for light.”)

He’s coming.

I can now hear the birds singing outside of my window. Can you?

"If a bird will sing in winter, much more in the spring. If the heart be prepared in the wintertime of adversity to praise God, how ready will it be when it is warmed with the glorious sunshine of his favour! Our life is nothing but as it were a web woven with interminglings of wants and favours, crosses and blessings, standings and fallings, combat and victory, therefore there should be a perpetual intercourse of praying and praising in our hearts. There is always a ground of communion with God in one of these kinds, till we come to that condition wherein all wants shall be supplied, where indeed is only matter of praise." - Sibbes, The Soul's Conflict With Itself, 115.

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