I can remember how dark night was when I was a child.

I am guessing it was the same then as it is today, the only difference was fear. Unjustified, unrelenting, fear caused me to tremble in bed each night after my mother tucked me in and kissed me goodnight.

The vivid imagination I have, that I value today, was my enemy back then. It created monsters and sounds, deep dark holes to fall into and creepy, crawling insects that appeared as soon as the light went out.

This message today reads more like a Halloween story than a message of hope. So why am I writing it?

It took me 56 years to see the light.

Every evening as I make my way up to bed, I always check to make sure the doors are locked, the shades drawn and of course, the lights are out.

The very last light I turn off is in our living room. Even though I recently placed two night lights downstairs, they appear dim and of little help as I carefully make my way toward the steps.

If I permit myself to “remember the darkness” of my childhood, I get this urge to run up the stairs fearing that someone or something is grabbing at my feet.

When it happens as an adult it is usually mixed with laughter as I acknowledge how silly it really is.

Still, I run.

It was the other night that I suddenly realized there was no reason to fear the darkness.

In the first few minutes of the evening as I prepare to fall asleep, I often question myself on my efforts to remember to lock the back door. Convinced that I may have forgotten, I walk to the top of the stairs and carefully make my way down. Lucy, our beautiful black dog, blends into the background at night. I believe she now expects me to check the back door one more time, so she sits on the stairs waiting.

Her sudden bolt down the steps startles me.

The dimly lit rooms cause me to walk slower, reaching my hands out in front of me in an effort to avoid dining room chairs.

The door was locked. It almost always is. Still, I check it.

Later that evening I woke up to see what appeared to be a downstairs light on.

“I know I checked that earlier!” I thought to myself.

I got up and went downstairs to check it out.

There were no lights on…just the two night lights.

That’s when it hit me.

We are always in the presence of light.

There are times in our life when the world is bright and beautiful. As life goes, there are also times of darkness. Fear comes into our life crippling our ability to function, to live, to enjoy the beauty that is still there, but unseen.

My eyes need to adjust to the dim night lights immediately after I turn off the last lamp. But later on, those night lights appear to be so bright that I can walk through the house without much effort.

In the darkness there is light. In those times when we cannot see the way, it may be that the brightness of previous joy-filled days make the beauty of the “here and now” impossible to see.

Tonight to test my theory, I will remain downstairs and make note of how long it takes for me to adjust, not to the darkness, but to the light.

Perhaps that has always been my problem. My focus in those days of challenge was always on the darkness. I chose not to see the light or even to acknowledge the existence of beauty in the world even when I could not see it.

In the dark days of winter we bring out the candles of our faith filled holiday traditions. Christian homes throughout the community are trimmed in hundreds of twinkling lights. Chanukah, the Festival of Lights, is celebrated by our Jewish friends, acknowledging the miracle of the oil that burned for 8 days.

Other faiths symbolically use light as a sign of hope and commitment.

So why then, when faced with our darkest days, do we hide in fear?

The Light of Hope, the beauty of the world we can so easily see in the light of day, is always there, always on when we choose to see it.

Faith gives us the power to not only see in the darkness, but be the light for others.

Darkness, therefore, is not the absence of light, but of faith and the failure to see the light within ourselves and others.

One must acknowledge the darkness but choose “To see the light.”

Bob Perks Bob@BobPerks.com