People who see the world as “dark” aren’t held in high regard. They are called curmudgeons, pessimists, even villains.

By contract, people who see the world in a positive light are considered optimistic. They’re the good guys.

Donald Trump’s speech at the close of the Republican National Convention was castigated by the opposition and the press as being “dark.” President Obama was so bothered by its tone that he felt compelled to reply the next day, “This idea that America is somehow on the verge of collapse—this vision of violence and chaos everywhere—doesn’t really jibe with the experience of most people.”

Taking politics out of this discussion (I know, that’s nearly impossible), this sunny statement by the president against the negative images conjured by Trump begs an important question, one that doesn’t concern only our time, but all of time, the way it’s always been, at least since the fall.

I’ve been intrigued by light lately.

The kind that bridges black to dim,

and dim to dawn.

Decorating the heights

and beckoning life from that which is deep,

Awakening horizons and arising heat.

I’ve been intrigued by lightly lately

As in the flame of a candle,

The fierceness of its glory,

The passion of its shadow,

The fragility of its strength.

I’ve been intrigued by light lately and God being called, “the Father of lights, with whom there is no

variation or shadow due to change” (James 1:17).

Jesus' words to his followers about us being the "light of the world", seems especially appropriate this time of year. It's the time of year when, up here, the light drops lower into the sky and the shadows are long. Leaves have blown away and naked branches shake. Here in raincity we've the added beauty of clouds creating interplays of light and shadow in an infinite array of patterns. It's a remarkable time of year, a time when darkness and light seem to be at war.

Thankfully, we live with the confidence that in just a few short weeks the darkness, which has seemingly been getting the upper hand, will once again enter its annual season of defeat as light inevitably triumphs. For some of us, the season is the most beautiful of all, not because we like the darkness so much, but because the darkness makes the little shards of light all the more poignant and powerful. A single candle in my home office at 6:00PM in May? Meaningless. On November 17th? Priceless.