Part of my nightly routine is to call in our dog, Jessie. Part of her nightly routine is to travel round about the countryside, barking in chorus with coyotes, treeing raccoons, splashing in our creek, and generally having a wonderful doggy time. Eventually, she returns to her post as sentinel in our front yard, where she warns off passing cars, the neighbors’ dogs, and anything else that wanders too close to her territory.
By the time I’m ready for bed, she is as well. I open our back door, whistle a few times, and eventually she comes trotting along with bright eyes and muddy paws, ready to curl up on her blanket in the mud room for a well-earned rest.
One night this week, however, she did not come to the back door. I whistled and called and waited, but she didn’t come. I stepped outside and walked around to the front of the house, thinking I’d wait a bit and try calling her again. The night was foggy, with no starlight and very little moonlight, but as always, our neighbor’s light shone through the bare trees.
That light is an ever-present comfort to me—that light, and the lights from the homes across the field a mile away. They represent security and safety, the presence of good people who, if needed, would help us, as we would them. I wonder if our distant neighbors look at our property lights the same way.
Looking back at our house, I realized that in our home another light shines all night, every night, from our littlest’s bedroom window on the second floor. Perhaps as people drive home late, or to work early, they look for that golden glow.
After all, people do watch one another. Christ recognized that fact and called believers to be lights in the world because of it, lights that would comfort and draw others to us, and hence to him.
Ye are the light of the world. A city that is set on an hill cannot be hid. Neither do men light a candle, and put it under a bushel, but on a candlestick; and it giveth light unto all that are in the house. Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven. —Matthew 5:14-16
Do people look at us and see Christ’s warm and steady presence in a smile or kind word? Do they watch us interact and see a brightness in our eyes and joy in our faces? Do we reflect the fruits of the Spirit, or is there in us nothing to draw others, because the Holy Spirit is quenched?
As always, I’d love to hear from you. Has anyone ever been drawn to you, or have you ever been drawn to anyone else, because of the bright light of the Savior shining forth?
P.S. Jessie did eventually make her way back to me that night, as she always does.