My family recently watched the Broadway musical version of The Lion King, a story we love and know well but had never seen like this. While much of the music and dialogue is the same as the familiar movie, the stage production includes at least one song the movie does not.

In case you aren’t familiar with The Lion King, it’s a loose adaptation of Shakespeare’s Hamlet. The main character, Simba, is a young lion who must decide whether to keep hiding and avoiding responsibility or return home and take his place as leader. As he faces his dark night of the soul, Simba gazes into the sky and sings, “Endless Night,” a song I hadn’t previously heard.

“Where has the starlight gone?
Dark is the day.
How can I find my way home?

Home is an empty dream.
Lost to the night,
Father, I feel so alone.

You promised you’d be there.
Whenever I needed you
Whenever I call your name,
You’re not anywhere.

I’m trying to hold on,
Just waiting to hear your voice.”

As the actor sang these words, I forgot he was playing a lion. I forgot I was watching a play. I forgot everything but how my heart was breaking along with his, crying out for his father and unable to find him in the dark.

I’ve been walking through a season of darkness for a while now, and over the past several months, the world has felt increasingly dark as well. For someone whose first book was called Choose Joy and who has written an entire Bible study about hope, stumbling through darkness, unsure I will find the light again, has been disorienting.

I recently lamented my loss of certainty, my inability to believe things will ever improve, and my anger at all the horrible things I see and experience every day. When I was asked, “But isn’t there anything good? Anything at all?” I wanted to shout no!

I ached to lay out all the evidence – the times I’ve begged God to help, to intervene, to make it better, only to hear silence. I wanted to make my case that nothing good is left in this world or my heart, that maybe I’d been wrong all those years I’d claimed God’s love meant He never leaves us and He always gives us something good to hold onto.

I wanted to give up. But like Simba, holding on and still listening for his father’s voice, I guess I’m not ready to give up my search for God’s Light in this world.

So for the hundredth time, I started keeping track of the starlight in this darkness. Even while I still feel alone, even when I can’t quite see the Father, the tiny bits of light – like the stars over Simba’s savannah – are leading me Home.

You might be wondering what tiny bits of light I’ve found. (I hope so, because I’m about to tell you!) They’re not miracles of biblical proportion, burning bushes, or billboards covered in encouragement just for me. They’re small gifts, little joys, things that others might not even notice — but they speak God’s love so clearly to me when I pay attention:

The light is a bright pink door on a navy house that’s so cute I had to call my best friend and tell her about it.

It’s the biggest zucchini I’ve ever seen, offered free by a co-worker with a green thumb.

It’s lunch with a friend, dinner with a cousin, texting with my brother.

It’s the new kiosks installed at my library offering multiple languages, including pirate. “Arrr, matey! Ready to check out yer books? Scan yer treasure below!”

The light is the best bagel I’ve ever had, grabbed in the drive-thru on my way to a difficult doctor’s appointment.

It’s two friends handing me the cash out of their purses to help my friend, whom they’ve never even met.

It’s the rainbow I could somehow see, even though the sun had set well before I began driving home.

My friend Shannan calls these things counterweights, the only way we can maintain the delicate balance of being present in this difficult, often dark world without letting it drag us down. I’ve heard others call them glimmers – the opposite of a trigger that pulls you into negativity, something that instead pushes you toward a more positive perspective.

Interestingly, both phrases acknowledge that you’re in a dark, difficult place. Without the dark, we wouldn’t need and couldn’t see glimmers of light. Without difficulty or heavy circumstances, we wouldn’t need light and goodness to balance it out. But we are in the dark, and many of us find ourselves crying out like Simba or, more biblically, like David in the Psalms.

Many of the psalms written by David are categorized as laments — songs and poems filled with fear and pain. But time and time again, he also found evidence of God’s faithful love in the small things and the skies.

“The heavens proclaim the glory of God. The skies display his craftsmanship.
Day after day they continue to speak; night after night they make him known.”
Psalm 19:1-2 NLT

No matter what you call them, these small joys, gifts, delights, tiny bits of light are evidence that, indeed, God is still here and God is still good. God has not forgotten us, and He continues to love us beyond all measure. The clues are all around us; we just have to look for them.

Where have you seen the Light of God in the darkness lately?

 

Listen to Mary’s devotion here or on the (in)courage podcast — streaming everywhere.

Leave a Comment