I Corinthians 15:40-41
A dear friend came by last week. She sat in my living room and we engaged in a deep, rich conversation.
We discussed the moon and inner light. Our talk was multi-leveled and seemed random at times, but we could both follow the others’ waves and patterns. I could not stop thinking about the metaphorical thought and idea of our discussion.
The moon—white and haunting. Orange and stunning.
This rocky, suspended sphere is capable of enormous power and immense influence.
The gravitational force of the moon’s body pulls on the ocean. She draws and gathers the great expanse of the ocean’s water creating ebb and flow. High tide and low tide. Her monthly rituals are recorded, documented, and consulted.
The nightly morphing of the moon is mesmerizing.
She waxes and wanes in a seamless, never-ending pattern.
When she is full she lights the sky with brilliance; all stars fade to the background.
She hangs in the sky—an illuminated orb.
Even when she is new, she is mystical. Faceless and invisible.
She is lovely.
But she has no light of her own.
Her radiance is derived from the sun.
She exudes the reflection of the greater light.
She has a beautiful, but borrowed radiance.
I am like the moon.
I am capable of power and influence.
I have that privilege and responsibility.
Unlike my sister moon,
I have often abused, neglected, and defiled it.
My devotion and faithfulness waxes and wanes.
There are times when I have been full and bright—
For a few brief moments, I have hung dramatically in the dark sky
illuminating the landscape below me.
Other times I reflect no light; I am faceless and invisible.
Like the moon my purpose is to illuminate the darkness.
I can do this only if I can reflect the Great Light—the Creator.
He supplies the brilliance I need—even through all the craters and darkness of my own.
God has given me a special splendor. He has cut the facets of my surface so that I might be a unique reflection of him.
I have no light of my own.
I cannot conjure up another source of true light. Alone I cannot produce real light. I have a tendency to forget this.
New Year's Resolutions?
Let me reflect truth.
Let me rejoice in the splendor that has been given to me.
Let me revel in my borrowed radiance.