The Light

For Christmas, one of my grandchildren received a fire truck with flashing lights and a real siren. I had a fire truck when I was a kid. It didn’t have the lights and sirens like my grandson’s, but it was fun to play with. The ladder extended to save my plastic men from ferocious fires in make-believe buildings.

My brothers and I received a lot of gifts. We got board games to play with during the long and dark Nova Scotia winter evenings. We had: Trouble, Snakes and Ladders, Monopoly, and Checkers.

I got toy cars to add to my collection. One year “Hot Wheels©” were popular.

The cars raced down a plastic track, spun through a loop, rolled off the end of the track, and across the floor.

They grew boring.

One gift never failed to amuse me. My aunt gave it to me. It was a flashlight—a simple flashlight. I was excited when I tore the wrapping paper away and discovered the gift underneath. It had a shiny metal shaft and fit perfectly in my small hand. The beam of light played over the walls and ceiling. I could hardly wait for night.

Most toys break, lose their parts, or are forgotten in dark corners. The flashlight stayed with me for years. In the dark of night, when I was afraid, I’d turn it on and feel comforted.

If we lost power, my flashlight would be with me, turning darkness into day. On foggy nights, its beam was a spotlight, visible for several hundred feet, before the fog swallowed it up.

The light got me through a lot of scary childhood times.

I grew older. The light broke, but I didn’t need it anymore. I found a new light to guide me. My faith in God became my light.

During one of the worse times, when I lost my wife to illness, the darkness was deep - no shadows. No moon shined to assist me. I stumbled around blind, not knowing where to turn. All was dark.

I turned to Him. He lit the way. He guided me.