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And the fireflies come out.
At first I'm not sure what's causing it. I'm walking along the trail when suddenly a leaf on the ground lights up, neon-green. I dismiss it at first--until I see another. And another. And a log with two or three bright-glowing lights, like greenish flashlights in the now-dark woods. We all stop and we stare; these tiny bugs, as small as a pencil lead, are lighting up the entire forest. Catch a dozen, and you have a flashlight.
I'm thinking--what is bright is only seen in the darkness. Only in darkness. And you rarely see what's causing the light. I can't see the firefly, but I sure see the light it gives.
We are His lamps, to shine where He shall say;
And lamps are not for sunny rooms,
Or for the light of day,
But for dark places of the earth,
Where shame and wrong and crime have birth;
Or for the murky twilight gray,
Where wandering sheep have gone astray;
Or where the lamp of faith grows dim,
And souls are groping after Him.
And so sometimes we find a flame,
Clear shining through the night--
So dark we cannot see the lamp, but only see the light.
May we so shine--His love the flame--
That men may glorify His name.
Am I shining? If so, where? Am I trying to shine in a place that is completely irradiated with sunlight, where people can see me--or am I willing to go to the dark places, where they will see the Light in me...but probably never (I hope never) see me?