Even when I walkthrough the darkest valley, I will not be afraid, for you are close beside me. Your rod and your staff protect and comfort me. (Psalm 23:4, NLT)
I create the light and make the darkness. I send good times and bad times. I, the Lord, am the one who does these things. (Is. 45:7, NLT)
Transparent moment here. I have been in a long season of loss. Five and a half years to be exact. Some things I lost by choice when my husband and I chose to relocate — the home I loved, friends and family I cherished, our discipleship community. Like everyone, the world we once knew is gone too. Pandemic. Political division and social chaos present their own challenges. Yet, other things I lost by chance and fate — a nephew, my father-in-law, my cousin friend, and the coolest cat on the planet. Then I lost my brother and my sister. As far as my nuclear family goes, I am the last one standing, and the sense of abandonment is discomforting and disruptive. I forgot to mention, I also lost a breast to cancer along with my hair.
It’s been a long, tough season of loss.
Through it all I continued to walk with others through their losses. Cancer diagnoses and treatments, grief, hopelessness and more. I offered pastoral care, coaching, and counseling while teaching a regular Bible study. This is the work my soul must have, but it has made my mourning complicated. Very complicated.
My melancholy has manifested in undirected anger, spurts of depression mixed with drops of joy all wrapped up in tears hanging out in the well of my eyes ready to drop at the slightest provocation and the smallest victory, real or imagined. I realized just recently that I have compassion fatigue and so I have unofficially joined the IDNC Club (iykyk) because “I simply do not care much anymore”. On the contrary, I haven’t stopped caring at all, I am indulging in some much-needed self-care and preservation.
In all of this internal and external upheaval, I lost my vision. I lost sight of my dreams. All of my plans seem to have drifted into nothingness. Most recently though, I have sensed a shift. A season that renders my heart and spirit lighter. So, moving into the last quarter of this year, I paused to think about some goals – to write the vision. As I pondered my heart’s desires for the coming year, I became perplexed. With all that is going on in this nation and the nations of the world, I asked God, “How do I dream in the dark?”
I soon thought of Psalm 137:4, “How shall we sing the Lord’s song in a strange land?” I am in a strange land indeed. The Psalm goes on to invite the reader to remember. It invites us to recall that God is our chief joy – even in the difficult, dismal, and devastating seasons of life. We must remember that God was present in the depths of darkness; that God spoke light into the darkness and created order out of chaos. Our God is still doing that today. It doesn’t mean that we won’t face struggles and opposition, but it does mean that we are never alone. God is with us even in the darkest of times.
Dreaming in the dark is actually an act of resistance. It requires divine defiance – it is an act of dogged faith. Dreaming while the world is falling apart is a declaration that God’s light is greater than the darkness around us. John 1:5 declares, “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it”. This is a radical truth: darkness does not win. It may cover for a season, but it will never conquer. Every time we dream in the darkness, we align ourselves with God truth. The word of God is not without power. Our dreams echo the divine command, “Let there be light.”
“You are the light of the world. A city set on a hill cannot be hidden.” (Matthew 5:14) If we belong to God, then light does not shine around us, it is in us. When we continue to dream in the dark, we become a light source. Our dreams and desires, purpose and prayers penetrate despair and reveal the light of new possibilities. This is supported by neuroscience. When we visualize hope or purpose our brains release dopamine. It literally keeps our minds from shutting down in despair. So, dreaming in the dark is not just spiritual, it creates neurological resistance as well.
When we dream with God’s light in mind, our dreaming becomes an act of worship. We are saying, “I believe you God! I trust what you can do even when I can’t see it.” Habakkuk grappled with this when everything around him fell apart. “Though the fig tree does not bud and there are no grapes on the vines… yet I will rejoice in the Lord, I will be joyful in God my Savior.” (Habakkuk 3:17-18) This is not some ignorant act of faith; it is having a revolutionary hope.
Dreaming in the dark can seem like an endless wait, but every seed grows in the darkness of the soil, moving toward the light before it breaks through. Isaiah 60:1-2 decrees to us, “Arise, shine, for your light has come, and the glory of the Lord rises upon you. See, darkness covers the earth, and thick darkness is over the peoples, but the Lord rises upon you, and his glory appears over you.” The darkness of the world makes God’s light in us far more visible.
So, here’s what I’m going to do and I’m inviting you to join me. Every day I will:
- Pray my dreams, not my fears.
- Take note of where I see glimmers of God’s light and presence around me.
- Stay in fellowship with other disciples that we might share our light.
- Guard my heart. I will nourish my spirit in scripture, worship, prayer and hope.
Together, let us defy the darkness. Let us refuse to allow the world to define what is possible for us at this time, because we know the One who is Light. “For with you is the fountain of life; in Your light we see light.” (Psalm 36:9)
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How are you defying the darkness? Where do you see glimmers of light? Leave me a comment below. I’d love to hear from you.