Where The Light Fell

 

The disc golf course at The Lighthouse Big Bear.

 

A few Sundays ago, we were singing ‘Be Still My Soul’ at church and my not-so-still two-year-old ran up on stage. Uggh. Kids playing on stage is on my personal no-no list. I know there are many different philosophies of ministry out there, and while some people see the church building as an extension of home, I am not one of them.

Jeff and I met at an evangelical Christian camp. One of the families that lived on camp taught their children that they couldn’t leave their stuff wherever they wanted, even when camp wasn’t in session. Camp was not their personal backyard despite its proximity. That logic made sense to us and we’ve kept it.

To me, church is a sacred place. To me, kids don’t play on stage at church, at least not when the kid’s dad is on the payroll. And here I am, living out ‘okay for me, but not for thee’ as my own kid runs on stage. It all happened in a flash. I was picking up some trash he left behind. Next I know, he’s far away causing chaos during a somber song.

Yet in that parent-fail moment of hypocrisy, I needed to sing, ‘be still my soul.’ It really was okay, even if it wasn’t ideal. Don’t get me wrong, I’m going to do my part to make sure it’s not a pattern. But sometimes, I need to remember Jesus’ teachings about the lilies of the field in Matt 6:25-34 and the calming of the storm in Matt 8:18-27 and relax. 

“Be still my soul the Lord is on thy side
Bear patiently the cross of grief or pain
Leave to thy God to order and provide
In every change He faithful will remain”

Last June, after a particularly difficult season - aka 2020 - the three of us were able to take a short vacation in the mountains. One morning, Jeff asked me while we were driving, “what has been your favorite part so far?” I immediately replied, “the Lord’s faithfulness.” Then came the waterworks.

Just a few months prior, I received our semiannual ‘do you want to cash out your paid time off’ email from HR and I took them up on the offer. I figured we were never going to be able to take a break. Whether it was an act of faithlessness, or a moment of proper assessment, I don’t know. But I do know, beyond all I could ask or imagine or predict, I was in Big Bear with my family with some extra cash.

Our district has a cabin where workers can stay for the price of a cleaning fee. The property was donated to the district and there’s a little book on the coffee table describing the history of the ministry. Families sacrificed weekends upon weekends to build this place, knowing the need for a space where people could retreat and hear from the Lord. Reading that history was healing. 

I also had time to read a few books while we were up there. Reading books in a quiet cabin in the woods was healing.

We attended Community Church Big Bear that Sunday. For the first time, we dropped our toddler off at nursery. Amazing. We sat down next to each other to listen to a sermon. Amazing. We were visitors and we didn’t have to enforce social distancing. Amazing. They announced there would be 22 baptisms. Ahhmazing.

They set up a speaker on the lakeshore, brought out a wireless microphone, and each baptizee shared his or her testimony in the lake before being dunked. The whole church (or at least a large representative of it) was there to watch. The last couple to be baptized had a surprise. They were getting married. With wet clothes, they made their vows before God and witnesses. We were invited to the reception in the old chapel. There, we were greeted by a stained glass window of Christ the Good Shepherd.

Having my kid taught the Bible for an hour was healing. Hearing those powerful testimonies was healing. Watching a church body celebrate baptisms was healing. Talking to the pastors there was healing. Seeing the bride and groom with wet towels was healing. Eating wedding cake was healing. Seeing the beauty of stained glass, and knowing the truth that I am in the care of the Good Shepherd was healing. And, it was relaxing. I can relax knowing God’s got this, all of this. He is so faithful. 

Dear reader, I don’t know what you’ve been through, or what you are going through. But I do know that Christ loves you. If God seems distant, or you’re not sure He even exists, start by looking to where the light falls. And see if you can follow those rays back up to the sun.[1]

***

  1. I heard this phrasing in several interviews with Philp Yancy describing his book Where the Light Fell: A Memoir. He attributed it to St. Augustine. I don’t normally recommend books I haven’t read, but I wanted to give proper credit. If you read it and it’s not something worth recommending, let me know. I believe in reading widely and that you don’t have to agree 100% with a book for it to be helpful.

 
Kylene Lopo

Kylene Lopo is a pastor’s wife, a BI Reports Developer, and is the mother of Silas (age 4) and Hosanna (age 0.) She has a masters in Biblical Literature from Alliance Theological Seminary and is an official worker with the C&MA in the South Pacific District.

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