My mother loves to tell a particular story about me, and has done so countless times.  When I was little, I spent many summers down south at my grandfather’s house out in the country where there was nary a streetlight.  Suffice it to say that when it got dark, it got real dark, and so at one point, I cried out “My eyes are open, but I can’t see!”

Decades later, my understanding of dark places has evolved.  I’ve had moments when melancholy has arrived on the threshold of my soul uninvited.   I have dwelt in shadows of obscurity, whether by choice or by circumstance. I have faced seasons when an abundance of question marks took up residence in my mental space.  I’ve bumped into grief and stumbled over fear as I groped along foggy paths to the unknown.

What does it mean to navigate dark places with eyes wide open?  Perhaps Lent is the time to ponder this question. As the Light of the World, Jesus could have just pulled me from a dark place to a brightly lit space.  Yet, having traveled from the wilderness to Gethsemane to Calvary, He made another choice – He showed up, sat down and lit a candle.   So now I consider what it might look like for me to light a candle for another.  Perhaps lighting a candle translates to sending up prayers of lament and intercession on someone’s behalf.  Or listening deeply to a neighbor’s story. Or nudging him in the direction of a therapist, spiritual director or community of support. Or reminding her that she is not alone. Or simply being present.

Your Call: What could “lighting a candle” mean for you right now?