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A popular children’s gospel song from my Bible school days in Kenneth urged us to be “lights in the darkness,” even if it meant brightening only our own little corners of the world.
“This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine,” was playing in my head last month when I unraveled a set of solar-powered Christmas lights. I was curious how or if they would work.
A perfect little evergreen tree has been growing and taking shape in a lonely corner of a field along Highway 23 near our home.
For years I’ve pondered how to get Christmas bulbs on it, and with improved technology of solar lighting, I decided this year the little tree would be festive.
It took two strands to circle its nearly 9 feet to the tip, and I attached the 4-inch square solar panels to their accompanying stakes in the ground and drove away.
Meanwhile, I discovered the lights came with two in a package, so I strung the extra ones on our new little ornamental trees planted this fall in memory of Carson.
The wires fell unevenly on the sparse branches, but the effect was exactly what I hoped for.
The following night, after a day of charging in bright sunshine, the multi-colored bulbs illuminated the two little trees in an otherwise dark part of our east lawn.
Admiring the twinkling colors against the dark sky, I suddenly realized the stars were competing for attention. Tipping my gaze directly overhead, the constellations took my breath away. They were spectacular.
I breathed deeply and took in the moment that made me feel so tiny in a vast universe, yet so close to the heavens at the same time.
I wondered about Carson and how he was faring as a newcomer to heaven. I hear it’s so fabulous you no longer think about earthly concerns or loved ones left behind.
That’s when a shooting star blazed across the southern horizon. I gasped. “I love you too, Carson. Thanks for the message.”
Around that same time, I started getting texts from the neighbors about the tree along the highway. “Did you do that? People are noticing.”
I smiled.
The little roadside evergreen was also producing the desired effect — to share Christmas cheer with motorists traveling along an otherwise dark and lonely stretch of highway.
The spirit of the holidays can be shared in many ways, but I love that the solar lights draw their strength from the sun in order to spread cheer.
We might all do well to lean on a higher power over holidays, which can be dark and lonely if we’re grieving loved ones.
I intend to let “this little light of mine shine” … powered by the one who came to us in a manger … and hopefully by more Carson messages in the stars.
Merry Christmas, dear readers. Let your little lights shine wherever and however you’re able.