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.

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.

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.