"...Though I fall I will rise again! When I sit in darkness, the Lord himself will be my Light...God will bring me out of my darkness into the light, and I will see his goodness" (Micah 7:8,9 TLB).
Darkness is frightening. We can't even see shadows--God's or ours--much less light when all is black, so our imagination catapults us into fear of the present and the future. When I read this awesome promise that the Lord Himself will be my Light, the fear of the somber present, as well as the unknown future, melted. Psalm 107:14 tells us that "[The Lord] brought them out of darkness and the deepest gloom and broke away their chains." I like to make God's promises personal, so when our son died I claimed this particular one and told myself that God is bringing me out of this dark night of my life and He is right now breaking away these chains that bind my joy and ability to continue with life.
The promise is that when I sit in the darkness He will be there as my Light. This prompts me to think that I can't be gadding about; that I need to stay put so that God can grant His promise. Indeed, Acts 1:4b says to "Wait for the promise of the Father." The Apostles needed to be told this for their encouragement.
The day I finally understood this was the day that I was telling a relative about our son who had recently died. It was nothing threatening, or so I thought. Out of the blue he interrupted me and said, "Well, you don't love your children any more than I love my children." I was shocked at what he said. It seemed so out of place and time. I went home and prayed about it, and decided that God had a message for me in this strange reply from a relative who I thought should (this took care of my "shoulds" for others!) have understood and commiserated with me. I didn't need another kick in the heart, so I thought. Then as I prayed for God to help me learn whatever the lesson was in this insensitive remark, God impressed on my heart that I needed to be with Him, not pouring out my grief to others. It wasn't that they didn't want to comprehend the depths of my personal sorrow, it was simply that they couldn't, and I must try to understand their needs in this, as well. I'm not saying this is what others should do, that they shouldn't share with relatives and friends; heaven forbid that I should turn out to be a Job's comforter! I'm saying I think it is finally what God wanted me to do in my particular circumstance.
Thank You, Light in the total darkness! Thank You for being there with me even when I didn't see You; when I couldn't see You. And O! Father, thank You for leading me back into Your Light!