Can you see in the dark?

Can you see in the dark?
We don't always choose the darkness that comes into our lives. Sometimes the events of our life and those around us seem to extinguish what light we are desperately trying to hang onto. This kind of darkness is not only heavy but constructing and unknown. So how do we move through it? What is our hope? I have found that in seasons of darkness some things can become clearer than they were before. Sounds like an oxymoron doesn't it? That's what I thought at first, however the more I thought about it the more it made sense. I have noticed that the little bit of light that shines in my life during these times can become more focused on the things that need to be seen. And the shadow of the cross covers all the things that would otherwise take my focus away from what really matters. I read a small book sometime back called "The Way of a Worshiper" by Buddy Owens. There is a section in the book that communicates so clearly that a season of darkness is not something to be feared. It's worth reading so don't stop here!

Peace and Blessing, Dave

Here is that section:
I found myself in a dark, confined space. And I feared it. Even in broad daylight, there seemed to be a pall over my life. I felt small and unnecessary.
The Prophet Nahum wrote: His way is in the whirlwind and the storm, and clouds are
the dust of his feet. (Nahum1:3) There definitely were clouds looming overhead. But I
believed that God was in them, leading the way through the storm. Day after day I surrendered to God's sovereignty, and followed him deeper into it all. I cried out to him in prayer and worship. I didn't want to ask God, "Why are you doing this to me?" Instead, I asked, "What lesson do you want me to learn?" I searched the Scriptures. I searched my heart. I watched. I listened. Heaver was silent. But you kept myself at the foot of the throne. I was determined to get in God's way. Sometimes praise defines reason. But someone once said, "The heart knows reason that reason never knows." Even when it didn't make sense, I knew in my heart that I needed to offer sacrifices of praise and thanksgiving to God. So I set my heart in a posture of praise. Weeks passed. The darkness persisted. The anxiety deepened. The heaviness intensified. I didn't know how long I could go on. I prayed. And prayed. "Father, if I stand, may I stand in your strength. If I fall, may I fall into your grace. Do whatever it takes for as long as it takes, Lord. Just don't let me miss the lesson, because I don't want to have to go through this again." What was this darkness? What was this pressure? Why did I feel trapped? Everything seemed so – I don't know how else to describe it – thick.
I was awakened at 4:00 am on morning with this question in my mind: "When did you learn to fear a hiding place?" I sat straight up in bed and listened to the question again: "When did you learn to fear a hiding place?" I got out of bed and stumbled to the kitchen table. As I waited in listening prayer, I remembered the joy of my childhood game of hide and seek and my love for hiding places. Then I heard these words whispered deep within my heart:
"The darkness is a fold in my cloak. The pressure is my hand holding you close to my side. I am hiding you."
As I sat at the table thanking God for his kindness, my fears began to abate. The heaviness lifted. I was so keenly aware of the presence of God in my life, watching over me, protecting me, hiding me. God knew. He really knew. And he was intimately involved in the struggle.I can't say there was nothing to fear – oh, there was still plenty to fear. My troubled didn't go away right then and there. The darkness didn't suddenly turn to light. But I was no longer afraid. I felt safe. I realized that my sacrifices of praise had met with God's pleasure. He was enthroned on my praises. I had tapped into the untold riches of worship: peace that surpasses understanding, strength to face another day, confidence that My family would be provided for, hope for a future, joy in spite of the crisis – grace upon grace upon grace. Like a hen covering her chicks with her wing, my Father was hiding me in the fold of his cloak. The darkness was no longer a place of fear. It was now a place of rest. I went back to bed and slept in peace.