Thank You Power Company!

I wrote this when we first arrived...I'm getting used to things happening at a different pace. 

 

Dear ONIT*,

I know you, my local power company, have a new name, but the old one is still celebrated every time light returns.

I want to write to thank you, ONIT, for the welcome you gave us on our first night back. The house was peaceful, the children getting zipped safely into their mosquito tents when I momentarily left the room for a second twin.  At that moment, you decided that you'd been generous enough, and the world went black.  If we'd been outside, I'm sure we would have shot our heads toward the heavens and gazed at the wondrous starry host, but alas, we were inside, without a torchlight or candle in sight. (Since we couldn't see anything.)  

And in this moment, ONIT, you did us a great service.  You gave us the terrified shrieks of Lydia who I rushed to and scooped into my arms.  She has forgotten that these blackouts happen and that they only last a few minutes (at least in our compound because we have a generator). Our conversation that you initiated gave great insight as I held my little girl, and it went like this: 

"I can't see you!" 

"I'm right here." 

"But I can't see you!" 

"Lydia, can you feel me?" 

"Yes, but I can't see you!" 

"Am I here?" 

"Yes, but I can't see you!" 

"Mommy will not leave you in the dark.  I will hold you. I love you.  You are safe." 

"It's too dark!  I can't see you!"

My generally joyful, trusting Lydia was so afraid of this darkness you ensued. A darkness she had never experienced before, and which made her question my ability to protect her, to know what she needed. ONIT, you may not be able to appreciate this conversation with my beloved child fully, but it reminded me of myself and my Father God.  You see, I'm going through transition, and very little is in order or straightforward. I ask God to show me himself.  I want to look into his eyes and let his gaze reassure me, but sometimes he just wants me to let him hold me in the darkness.  I cry for him to be more real, when the reality of his presence has never changed. 

All this to say, I was thankful for this moment that the Father used to remind me of his character.  On the other hand, I've learned this lesson now, so no need to continue taking light in the future. 

Your dependent patron, 

Christy 

 

*Pseudonym