Remember in the Dark, What Was Visible in the Light

Remember in the Dark, What was Visible in the Light

December 12, 2017

A relatively quiet night, rolling west on I-80, 50 miles east of Council Bluffs, Iowa. Wind buffets the truck, dropping fuel mileage enough to add an unplanned stop. “Just a splash of fuel,” the Trucker said, “To tide us over to Lincoln.” The truck sways, fighting the pressure. Temperature stands at 28 degrees, down 4 in the last few minutes. Engine noise competes with the rushing of wind.

But the most significant sense is darkness. Black dark. Tonight it seems more than just the absence of light, but a presence. Were it not for the occasional white headlights of eastbound trucks, and red lights of those westward, the only lights would be our own. Such a lonely feeling. An all-by-myself-in-the-world sensation. Dark makes one vulnerable. The inability to see one’s path, or what may be nearby, can be crippling. Dark is a negative thing. Associated with fear and loss and insecurity.

Yet ahead, a curved row of red lights glow in the sky, slowly blinking. Not moving. We know they mark the rotating wind turbines spread out over the prairies. Faithfully turning to provide power. Regulated, so that even in a night of wintry blasts they are held from spinning out of control and causing great damage. Incredible power, these turbines. The secret of their power is the controlled setting in which they operate, no matter the pressure exerted by their surroundings. I do not need to see the windmills to know they are there. I just need to remember in the dark, what was visible in the light.

I think of the chariots and horses of fire that surrounded the city of Dothan, protection sent for the man of God, Elisha. Things looked dark for him, a hunted man. Yet that darkness was what brought the vision of fiery warriors. Darkness enabled me to see the flashing lights on the windmills, lights unnoticed in daylight.

Darkness has become a familiar enemy, representing confusion, loss, grief, pain. Pain so heavy, it is unable to be contained in the emotions, but overspreads to the physical. One by one, the lights of hope have been snuffed out, til few are left. I pray for God to open our eyes, that we may see the chariots and horses of fire, but that has not yet happened. For now, we struggle to remember in the dark, what was visible in the light.

I think of the turbines. Even though they are wind driven, they do not take advantage of the wildness of this night. Despite their potential, they continue the steady pace set for them. A pace appropriate for the needs they supply. Designed to rotate at 14.4rpm, the blade tips then are moving at 200mph. Turbines will ride out tornado force winds with no damage, no spinning out of control. But a malfunction in their machinery or settings, and they literally destroy themselves, and anything in the vicinity. When reaching 18rpm, they will do just that, as happened in Huron, Michigan in February, 2016. “It was there, we just didn’t see it,” according to the wind farm manager. One of three seals failed, putting added stress on the others. And 1.5 million dollars’ worth of equipment crashed to the ground, self destructed.

God has set a pace and a parameter in which I am to serve Him. Guidelines, for my protection. The difference between me and the wind turbines, though, is that I have a choice. I can choose to take on the pressure exerted by my surroundings, go my own way. He allows that. But eventually I will self destruct, taking others with me. Or, I can choose to operate under His control, trusting Him to set the pace of my rotations and the sphere of my influence. This choice provides protection for me, and all within my reach.

Topping a slight rise on the prairie, we see the lights of Omaha spread out ahead, sprinkling the darkness with perspective, guiding travelers toward their destinations. The truck rolls on through the black night, while we remember in the dark, what was visible in the light.