“We—or at least I—shall not be able to adore God on the highest occasions if we have learned no habit of doing so on the lowest. At best, our faith and reason will tell us that He is adorable, but we shall not have found Him so, not have “tasted and seen.” Any patch of sunlight in a wood will show you something about the sun, which you could never get from reading books on astronomy. These pure and spontaneous pleasures are “patches of Godlight” in the woods of experience.” —C.S. Lewis
I'm still searching for the patches of Godlight in my life right now. Depression likes to cast shadow over the light in my life, like an unwanted curtain over a beautiful window. Sometimes I can fight hard enough to catch a glimpse of the perfect light, filtering over creation. Sometimes a glimmer sneaks through when I least expect it. But oftentimes, I simply revel in the memory of the light. The warmth of it on my face. The way I feel it beckoning me to twirl. The quickening of my heartbeat. The feeling that wells up within me, the one I cannot name. Yes, I remember what the light is like. I know it does exist. I cannot lose hope with the knowledge of the light. I cannot lose hope when I know it is out there. I cannot lose hope. For when I lose hope, the light will again slip away from my fingers, and I'm working so hard to draw near to it again.