Walking in the light

One of the things I love about my friend, Leticia, the friend whose home I stayed in while hanging out in Madrid, is how much she talks about light. One morning as we drove in the car towards her sons' school, she spoke of how much she likes the light in May and June in Madrid. The length of the days. The brightness of the sun. I have known her for more than 20 years, and she has always spoken that way about the light.

She's right. The light in Madrid is fabulous at this time of year.
The smog isn't thickly layered under the summer heat. Yet.
The sky is mostly cloudless.
The sun shines majestically about the skyline.

Here are two photos taken on my second day there.
They were taken at 9:36 pm - I know the exact time because I wrote it in my journal just after I took them.

How can you NOT love that much light

at that late hour?

Or the light that is bouncing off that church facade?

I remember being in Orvieto, Italy, back in 2001, and seeing the light bounce of the facade of that town's magnificent cathedral. I took photos that couldn't capture the beauty, but at least they reminded me of it. After capturing the images with my camera, I pulled out a postcard I had purchased and wrote it to myself - Is the light of the Son reflected from my facade, from my face?

This was the view from a table where I sat eating lunch.

Light and shadow. Alone and together. Brightness and darkness. 

All at play. All right there in front of me - and also within me.

Later the same day, I visited a museum and this is the courtyard just outside the front door.

Walking in the light. Sitting in the light. 

Feeling my way through the darkness.

Knowing, remembering, being reminded, that even when it's supposed to be dark, there is light.

Even when there is no light, light still exists. 

Light is coming. The sun will rise again.

When my father was dying of kanswer just over fourteen years ago, I clung to the hope of light and life.

When my daughter was in the hospital nearly seven years ago, I clung to the hope of light and restoration.

When I was on my own kanswer journey two years ago, I clung to the hope of light and healing. 

Two weeks ago today, when I landed in Spain,
two weeks ago tomorrow, on my first full day in Spain,
I walked in the light of the bright Spanish sun.
I also walked in the light of the Bright and Morning Star, the One who loves me most.
I hope and pray that some of God's light, some of God's peace, some of God's grace, some of God's joy was visible in me and on me and through me.

I miss my dear friend, Leticia, and her welcoming, loving family.
I hope and pray that she continues to see, to acknowledge,
to honor, and to live in the light she loves so much.
And The Light I love so much too.
Te echo de menos, amiga mia. Un abrazo fuerte a ti y a los tuyos.