Around 8:00 in the evening our nine-month-old pup, Molly, begs to go outside. She “talks” to Nancy and me in a semi-whine, semi-growl begging us to attend to her need. We, of course, tell her it’s not time, and try to put her off for another hour, but she has none of that and continues her pleading until one of us relents.
By nine o’clock and back inside, Molly has relaxed completely having taken over the sofa. I call her, but she doesn’t budge until I attach her to a leash. Reluctantly, she gets up and follows and we go outside bracing ourselves against the cold night air. It’s something neither of us wants to do but is a necessary part of our routine before we can settle down for the night.
Since we live in a country setting, it is usually quiet as we venture outdoors. On clear nights, moonlight shines leaving shadows. I hear no sound, but Molly does. Her ears pitch towards the semi-dark field across the road. I shine my light into the dark and see nothing but tiny points of lights in pairs, like eyes staring in my direction.
“Hush”, I tell the dog. “There are aliens over there. Watching us. Do your business and we’ll get back inside.”
I focus my light into a tighter beam, and I can see the outline of the bodies that the eyes belong to. Deer. Usually, a herd of four to six of them. They come out at night to graze in the hayfield when they are less likely to encounter people. They stare at Molly and me briefly before resuming their grazing, but the impression of alien eyes does not leave me.
It is so easy for imagination to take over on a dark country road in the middle of the night. I remember when in my early teens my brother and I helped with chores on the farm where we lived. The farmer held to a four o’clock milking routine, so the morning chores meant getting up two hours before daylight and crossing the dark barnyard from the tenant house to the barn. My imagination often ran away with me, and I pictured some great behemoth or other monster I had seen on television, lurking in the shadows. Somehow, I escaped to where the lights blazed in the cowshed and the humming of the milking machine drove the thought of monsters from my mind.
Of course, over the years I no longer have the fear of the dark I once had as a teen. At least not when I have a good flashlight in hand. But still, even now, I scan the trees along the road for anything that might be lurking in them, as well as, the field across the way where I can see the glowing points of light—alien eyes.
There is no question that there is an innate fear of the dark in most of us. Perhaps this fear is controlled better in some than in others. But basically, if we admit it we all have it. That fear comes from distrust of the unknown. The darkness hides what is around us and our thoughts run wild as to what could be out there waiting to pounce. But light, even that of a flashlight dispels the darkness, showing that there are no aliens, but simply a peaceful herd of deer.
Jesus is the light of the world. He shines in through darkness of uncertainty showing that there is nothing to fear when we are in His care. His disciples learned this when rowing against the storm in the middle of the night on the sea of Galilea. Their fear proved to be their biggest enemy. But Jesus calmed the sea with a simple, “Peace be still. ” And so, He overcomes the fear of what lies ahead for me for he has promised never to leave nor forsake those who trust in Him.
We live in a time of dark uncertainty. Our world is in turmoil such as those in our generations have never seen. It is easy to become pessimistic, fearful, and overwhelmed. But the light of this world that Jesus has given us has never gone away. Moreover, His Word tells us He is returning to this earth and that darkness will be no more.
I need not fear alien eyes in the field across the street.