Jesus is light. All lights point to him. I sit awaiting light.
Today, as dawn begins in MYC, New York City, I look for light. Houses here are lit up for the season; in general, houses, their outsides, are not lit, decorated in London, our town. Villages are, streets are, stores are. But not houses.

In both cities people design lights. They need light; they look for it. Aragon , in ‘The Two Towers’ looked toward, for light after the night’s battle; after being let down my people, I look for healing, for light. Yesterday, I searched for light in the light of Vermeer’s ‘Girl with Pearl Earring’ exhibit at the Frick; I walked Van Cortland in the Bronx searching houses and sky; I asked for light. Families may give some light this season, this time of year, but as a blazing torch or comet, their lights soon leave. All human designed lights, all these lights will leave.

But he? He was always there; He is.
It is ‘his star’ I need to follow.
Micah 7:8b states that ‘Though I sit in darkness, the Lord will be my light’

Jesus, your light, the world’s light, my light-stays
My Light stays, with me

Envelope me; then, then

I will rise in His light.



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