The Light Is Still On

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I was hoping.

Hurrying down the street of my Hanover Street neighbourhood past the summer time sunset, I could faintly see the golden hue of the porch light through the leaves of the mighty oak, planted many years before, that had stood the test of time, standing stoically on the corner of the white picket fence that signified home to my young heart.

It was a time children could stay out past dark and the biggest worry would be to get home before the now cold tub water was thrown out from the large metal tub the whole family bathed in… Same water for all.

The vintage light bulb surrounded by the tiniest night time bugs was a stability… security that all was well. Mom and Dad were home, waiting for the last of the children to come in from the darkened summertime streets.

My red and white 70s banana seat bike bumped happily onto the gravel driveway.

I was 8… And my heart was happy… the light was still on.

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Driving down the dusty country gravel road in my dad’s 78 green LTD, the darkness surrounded the car with only the high beams lighting the way as the rain poured down around me.

I knew… just knew, no matter where my evening had taken me… just passed the evergreens bordering the front yard, the front porch light, still surrounded by the tiniest night time bugs would still be on since I was not home yet. Mom and dad would still be up… waiting for the last of the teenagers to make their way home.

I was 18…and my heart was happy…. The light was still on.

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My heart, my mind, my eyes… strained longingly through the snow packed windshield waiting to get a glimpse of the snow covered front porch light beaming through the snow storm.

It was home.

Making my way down the snow packed highway, now still 20 miles from my home, my knuckles gripping the steering wheel tighter and tighter as the snow storm swirled mercilessly around my 1981 Silver Chevy Topaz, covering any hope of previous tracks on the lonely stretch of highway deep in the dark of the night.

My husband would be waiting up. I was 28 and my heart was happy because the light would still be on.

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Making my way from a church service wanting to make sense of some things happening in my life now and throughout the past years, there was no 8 year old summertime Darkness… no 18 year old pouring rain… and there was no 28 year old swirling snowstorm.

Yet the darkness of the things I couldn’t see in my life… the pouring rain of tears…or the swirling snow storm of confusion in my mind.. my heart, had left me searching for the comfort of that light… the light at 8… the light at 18… and the light at 28.

My soul yearned for the light that brought a comfort that said I was home.

I picked up my little brown Bible my mom and dad had given me at the age of 13 and started reading.

Reading passages and chapters I had read many times over the years, yet this time I saw through the darkness… through the pouring rain.. and through the swirling snow storm… A light.

A light I had always heard about but had not seen for myself. I found a peace that had escaped me for too many years. A joy that filled my heart from corner to corner and a Truth… not just any Truth, but the Truth about who my God was to me and who I was to Him.

It was the comfort of home my heart had yearned for over the decades.

Someone was waiting…. He was waiting…. No matter where I’d been.

The God of the universe… Waiting for me to see the Truth… And come home.

I was 48…. And my heart was happy…

Because the LIGHT was STILL on❤️