Immeasurable Light by Diane Reiber
Reflecting on this moment where time stood still, the world was hushed and hesitant little me was taken in and lavishly cared for.
Several years ago, my sweet niece Amanda, whose smile could soften anyone’s heart and whose laughter could lift an entire room, was tragically killed in a car accident at the age of sixteen. As our whole family experienced this heavy and unwelcomed grieving process, I recall becoming like glue to my sister, Amanda’s mom. I tried to help her and worried about her. I mean how does a mom work through this, or even accept this as reality?
A year after my niece’s death, I fell apart. Staring into the dark, I could feel absolutely nothing. I lost my faith and turned my back on God. I felt he was to blame for all of this. “How dare You?”, was a question for him I discovered deep in my heart and it had me running as far away from God as I could. When I reached the end of myself, I hesitantly reached out to a friend whom I trusted. He offered to be my guide through this present abyss.
Over time, I learned to open my heart up to Jesus. I was able to connect with him in a real and mind-baffling way. I didn’t realize this kind of relationship actually existed, nor did I know Jesus could heal me so deeply.
As my relationship with Jesus was developing, I attended Mass where our pastor read the story of the disciples encountering Jesus on the Road to Emmaus. As he read the line “their eyes were prevented from recognizing him” (Lk. 24:16, NAB) I paused and rolled these words over in my mind, perplexed. I mean, why didn’t the two disciples recognize Jesus as they were walking alongside Him? The very person they were grieving? How different did he look to them?
Our pastor, not realizing my questions, answers all of them. In his homily, he shares that the reason they didn’t recognize Jesus was because of their immense grief. They couldn’t see through it, couldn’t feel anything beyond it. That hit me. I feel now I can finally understand and forgive myself for turning my back on God. I now understand how blinding grief can be. How dark and hopeless it feels.
Later that afternoon, in our sunny backyard where our children play tag, I am trimming back lavender. I pause while pruning, realizing this isn’t even a job; it’s a gift! Soft notes of lavender fill the air and it smells like spring, so refreshing after a long and bitterly cold winter. I continue trimming. Suddenly I feel a nudge within me to go back to church. To go and view the picture of Jesus depicted in a painting of Divine Mercy shown in the church today. Begrudgingly, I decline. I was just at church! I’m here with my family enjoying the day. Later on, I feel that same nudging and again I dismiss it.
The following morning, walking into my art studio with creativity brimming and ready to work on a landscape, I add highlights to the grassy field and I feel swept up into the scene. Just then the nudging occurs again and becomes louder with the prompting, “You need to go and see the picture at church.” I stop with the paintbrush in the air and lay it down fully loaded, going against every fiber of my being to rinse them. This is how loud the request is though. I abruptly leave my home and drive to church.
Sitting front and center, I face the picture and talk with Jesus. “I’m okay now”, I share. “I understand more about grief. I understand why I couldn’t recognize You either, just like Your disciples. I know why I ran from you and I’m sorry.”
At that moment, a woman enters the church and sits a few pews behind me. She starts working on a project. The crinkling of paper, cutting with scissors, and shuffling items around distracts my concentration. I turn to You and share, “Jesus, it was nice to come here, thank you for prompting me, as I always enjoy the conversation and time spent together. Now I’m going to leave as I can’t focus any longer, but thank You.”
To be honest, I’m still wondering why I was summoned to come here in the first place and what prompted all the nudging.
Before I leave, I look once more at the picture of Jesus. I notice the light coming from his heart, depicting his love and mercy for us. I scan down at the bottom and read the words: Jesus I trust in You. In this exact moment, I experience a warm and penetrating light flooding me and flowing throughout me. As this light enters in, harsh and heavy darkness is leaving me. I can feel all of it. This exchange of light and dark occurs over and over in waves as I sit motionless. I can still hear the lady behind me crinkling paper loudly, and I don’t care. I weep silently and experience this warmth and light. It is simply amazing, and I have never felt anything like this before.
Finally, as it all dissipates, I realize it’s time to leave. I open the wooden door to leave the church and feel profoundly different. Sitting in my car, I collect myself and I realize an hour has passed since the moment I was going to leave that pew because of the distractions and noise. An hour. That is an immeasurable amount of light that I felt. Now I feel almost weightless like someone has lifted a boulder off of me. I feel healed, loved, and deeply cherished.
I feel very similar to the lavender I had trimmed back the day before. Released from the cold winter and cared for, now pouring forth fragrance.
Diane Reiber is an author and artist. She is always excited to share light and encouragement in both formats. Diane resides in Lincoln Nebraska with her husband and family. She enjoys playing board games, Sunday brunches, and a good cup of tea filled with plenty of lingering conversations. She is humbled and filled with gratitude as she recognizes the hand that has held her every step of the way. To learn more about Diane, her art and her writings please visit her website: diane-reiber.squarespace.com
