You can come to the end of a long, tiring, trying week.
And your kitchen can smell like the trash you forgot to set out this week and your house can be all out of sorts because you simply haven’t.had.time to pick up.
And you can choose the Better Thing.
The dishes will still need washing and yes, the bills will still need paying. But for right now, you can choose to sit. Still. At His feet. And it’s okay to feel like you can’t help but to write about the moon. Who knew it could be so beautiful? It reflecting the light of the sun. You can come home to a glance at your reflection in the bathroom mirror, and see cheeks ripened from letting cold October air fill your lungs to the rhythm of legs overturning bicycle wheels on the return from the back shore. And it can hit you: you radiate when you look at Him.
“Those who look to him are radiant, and their faces shall never be ashamed.” Psalm 34:5 ESV
You could whisper the name of Jesus over and over again, and let His peace wash over you. You could remember, when the darkness threatens to overtake you, that Light has already won. And He who holds that white orb reflecting sunlight suspended in space, He holds your heart suspended in grace. He is worthy to be trusted with it. And any thoughts contrary to that don’t hold any weight—so you don’t have to let them convince you they do. In fact, you must do the very opposite. You must proactively fight against them. Tear them down.
“For the weapons of our warfare are not of the flesh but have divine power to destroy strongholds. We destroy arguments and every lofty opinion raised against the knowledge of God, and take every thought captive to obey Christ, being ready to punish every disobedience, when your obedience is complete.” 2 Corinthians 10:4-6 ESV
The moon, hanging cratered in the sky, emits no light on its own. Its only illumination is that which is reflected off the sun. We see light by night when we see the moon face the sun—when the eyes of the moon look at the face of the sun. And so, even in darkness, we are guided by the light of day.
You and I, we could be moons. We could look to Him, fix our eyes on His face, so that everything else grows strangely dim. And strangely enough, that dim-sightedness to the problems and lies that loom, that appear to be mountainous monsters who might have the power to tear us down, it opens our eyes to the Light and the Truth: the truth that these threats, monstrous as they seem, have no power over us. We, in Christ, in fact have the power to tear them down. Our cratered faces, carved by scars of fear and pain and hurt and loss and grief and sin and evil—could be no longer darkened. We could reflect the Son, all His radiant Beauty. And we could guide those in the dark by the light of Day.