Here in the darkness

I squint at the pan, scraping the beef and onions into a tupperware container.  The camping lantern on the kitchen counter throws off a dim light, enough light to keep me from banging into furniture, enough dimness to make my work difficult and slow.

Oh, the temptation to turn on the lights that Prairie taped off last night!

But I resist, choosing to live without that comfort.

For now.

The certainty of tomorrow’s light encourages me to continue my struggle in the darkness..

So I will carry a flashlight to bed, perhaps read a bit by candlelight until my eyes begin to strain and listen to the girls giggle in their bedroom. Tomorrow, we will arise early, welcoming the Light with joy. I have learned to love our Easter Weekend Ritual.

High noon in the valley of the shadow . . . .

When the shadows were shot through with light
When Jesus took in that breath
And shattered all death with his life
Be gone, you wages of sin
Go on, don’t you come back again
I’ve been raised and redeemed
You’ve lost all your sting
To the victor of the battle
High noon in the valley of the shadow


Last night, we were singing Andrew Peterson’s Come Back Soon in the dark.

But this morning, in the light we are singing Peterson’s High Noon.

Thank you, Jesus, for holding back the darkness, for the hope that thrums through our hearts.  Help us cling to that hope when we are weak.  Amen.

Waiting for the light

The sun is sinking and darkness is deepening.  We feel this transition more strongly this evening because Lincoln taped our light switches down last night at bedtime, so we can’t flip on the lights.  We are choosing to live without light to remind us of a time long ago when all seemed dark and lost, when all hope seemed gone.

Andrew Peterson’s song Come Back Soon has been playing through my mind and house a lot the last few days.  It has fit my mood lately as I have pondered and prayed for several friends, family and names of strangers who are suffering.

We ate by candlelight and I finished up preparations for tomorrow’s quiche and cinnamon rolls in the twilight with two weak candles on the kitchen counter and a small flashlight to check my recipe measurements.  Sid and the children are outside kicking the soccer ball in the fading light.

Very soon, I will call them in and the children will get baths by candlelight and we will read about the crucifixion and contemplate the fear and dread, the overwhelming sorrow and confusion that Jesus’ followers must have felt.

Tomorrow, we will rise to the Light and Hope of the world.

But for now, we live in darkness.  And cling to hope.

Our Lord has conquered

A poem written by my 10-year-old son, Lincoln . . . . .


The Resurrection

Lincoln Gaskins



Rolling aside with hardly a sound,

The stone of the tomb lay upon the ground,

As the morning dawned clear and bright,

No one ever saw such a glorious sight.

Light filled the cave, where shadows had been,

Shattering the chains of slaving sin,

The demons of Satan screamed and fell on their faces,

And the angels took off their armor, and put on curling laces.

Heavenly trumpets from the sky to below,

“For forgiveness, do these golden notes flow!”.

While the night before was young, and the people slept,

Christ took up his sword, by the name of Life,

Charging at the foe, blade to blade they met,

Cleaving and thrusting, like corn to a scythe,

Un-weakened, undaunted, by the will of Sin,

He fought for forgiveness, he fought for his Fatherly Kin.

Until victorious stood he in the tomb,

Then he cast his arm unto the sea, under the midnight full moon.

The light of the moon is beautiful, the sun in the sky may be bright.

But for me, I choose the path, lit by the Candle of Christ.