I’ve been admiring a plant my mother has on her back porch. Mom has a green thumb; I am only an admirer.
“What are those,” I asked mom, while we sat out on the back porch. “Those are weak looking things.”
“I don’t know what those are, Possum. They bend toward the sunlight.”
After losing friends and family those words struck home for me. “They bend toward the sun.” I’ve chewed on those words for two days.
The world is a mess, and it’s getting worse by the day. There’s sunlight out there, but sometimes we have to bend toward it. No matter how dark the night, light gets in.
Sometimes it gets in because we’re broken, but still…
When I go see my mother, I walk back on her porch. Those weak flowers are bent over in the direction of the sunlight. Straining against the dark, reaching for the sun.
I think of where I’ve come from, and what God delivered me from. In my mind I see myself straining against the oppressiveness of the dark, reaching toward the light.
There’s a hope for a better tomorrow. It won’t always be dark, light will find its way through-if we bend toward the light.