Moonbeam Remembrance

 

Then spake Jesus again unto them, saying,

I am the light of the world:

he that followeth me shall not walk in darkness,

but shall have the light of life.

                                                                                    -- John 8:12

 

He was a big shot, a big-city businessman with a big job, a big salary, and big responsibilities.

 

But who knew? He felt small.

 

He had phones in his office, home, car, and growing out of his ear. He had a thick daily planner, a fat Rolodex, and a wide circle of business associates. He had a long job description, a long line of employees to supervise, and a long commute. He left early and came home late, coming and going, quite often in the dark.

 

In more ways than one.

 

His business associates thought he had found a sure path to success. But he felt totally lost.

 

People thought he was a captain of industry, sailing full speed ahead. But he felt like a gerbil on a wheel, going nowhere fast.

 

Something was missing, and he didn't know what. It was scary, but he felt only numbness, or maybe the beginnings of chest pains. But he suppressed those implications, because he just didn't have time.

 

In the midst of people constantly, he felt utterly alone.

 

Time passed. He tried to fill the emptiness with activity. His stress, restlessness and hyperactivity grew. The clock was like a choke collar. Fifteen-minute deadlines left him no time for relaxation, reflection or rest.

 

He was trapped in workaholism, the way people lose themselves in booze or drugs or food or TV or sports or shopping or gambling. Too much, too much, too much. It always winds up being not nearly enough.

 

Doing more, more, more but satisfied less, less, less. Feeling alienated . . . empty . . . disconnected . . . discouraged.

 

Then one morning at O-Dark-Thirty, long before sunrise, he dragged himself out of bed and robotically got ready for work. He didn't even glance toward his wife's sleeping form as he left their room and started down the stairs.

 

Suddenly, he noticed a bright beam of light coming into his dark home from the skylight up above. It was from the full moon, shining down through the skylight onto the stairway landing.

 

The moonbeam was illuminating an old Christmas decoration that was on a table on the landing. He'd been so busy, he hadn't even noticed that his wife had put up the holiday decorations in their home. But coming down the stairs, his eyes locked onto the little homemade church with the roof of Ivory Snow, frosted like a cake. His grandmother had made it back in the 1940s, and his mother had passed it on to him.

 

 

 

It was glowing with such warmth and beauty, he couldn't take his eyes away. The little bulb inside the church was not plugged in. But the small structure was fully lit from the moonlight streaming through the skylight. It seemed so real.

 

He stood stock still. His feet were bolted down. His eyes locked onto the church.

 

And a thought came into his head:

 

"Remember what you learned in this place."

 

He gasped. Hunh?

 

Who said that?

 

Silence.

 

He looked around. He saw nothing. But he heard . . . something. Or Someone.

 

This place? What place?

 

Church? It had been ages since he'd been in a church.

 

He remembered sitting there as a boy, bathed in the light of the stained-glass window his family had given in memory of his grandfather, the one he looked like. His father would put his strong arm around him, and he would sit in warmth and security, listening to the Bible stories and beautiful hymns. The light would shine in on him through that window, and he would feel loved and safe, happy and complete.

 

The businessman looked up, and saw how the moon completely filled the skylight, as in a picture frame. For the first time in a long time, he felt as full as that moon . . . complete . . . at peace.

 

As if mesmerized, he walked downstairs and outside, to where he could see how the moon was brightening the entire back yard. He felt as though the light was shining on him and into him, deep into his heart.

 

He felt bathed in that light, helpless as a baby, but perfectly safe . . . cared for . . . tended to . . . loved.

 

He dropped to his knees, buried his face in his hands, and sobbed, remembering what it was he had learned so long ago in that place called church.

 

Ohhhh, God!

 

Oh, my God!

 

He ran back inside, taking the stairs two at a time, and knelt beside his sleeping wife. He kissed her awake, held her, and told her about the church and the moonbeam, and the voice-that-wasn't-a-voice but still spoke directly to his heart. He told her how much he loved her, and how things were going to change. Really change! She would see!

 

She cried, too, with relief and joy, and maybe a little fear that he was going crazy.

 

But he wasn't. Like the shepherds of old, he had seen the light . . . and that's all it took.

 

He sees it all the time now, especially in church. Because he did put some sanity back in his schedule, and he did make time to go back to that place called church, and he took his family with him. Now they're all there together, feeling safe . . . cared for . . . at peace.

 

With his arm around his son, next to his wife, listening to the music and the stories, his heart full, his life complete, he found what he was missing. It was the only thing he ever needed . . . and it was there all along, in the peace and fullness of the Light of the World. †