ever brighter
My sister-friend and I sit close in the middle of the morning, me, with my hair still wet and my face scrubbed clean, bare feet tucked up, she, perched on the corner of a cushion of the couch, but we might as well be—I’ve said this to her before, receiving her easy laugh—floating on our backs side-by-side in the River, holding hands as sisters do, noticing that particular blue of Summer sky, those frothy clouds like waves rolling in above our heads, the way the trees lean over, dragging branchy fingers into living water. And then, of course, there is the light, bold and sparkling and hot, that seems to live inside of everything.
I want to learn from my older sister, who is bright and radiant, the sun beaming from her face in blessing even on days clouded over with storm. I look at her and remember, may His face shine upon you and give you peace. My friend carries peace like a superpower.
“How do you do it?” I ask, smiling. This morning, I am after the sharing of real beauty secrets.
She tilts her head, matching my grin as she follows curiously along, unsure yet about where I’m headed with the question.
“You are beautiful, the picture of that verse,” I say, waggling my finger toward her as though somehow to write the words in the air between us, “the one about God’s people glowing. You know—the longer they live, the brighter they shine. Have I told you? I want to be like you when I grow up.”
Digging into the words of that proverb—the path of the righteous is like the morning sun, shining ever brighter till the full light of day–early, with the dawn, having wandered into it in my reading, I discovered that the word in the Hebrew translated ever brighter in some versions of the text, referring to that maturing power of sunlight, is all about a progression toward some destination, like a walk. The sun travels its well-worn path through the sky, and my feet travel the well-worn Way, from dust of earth to new life. In fact, turns out the same word in other verses translates walking, especially walking with God, as if to drive home the point that long traveling with God, who is light, according to the beloved apostle John, just naturally leads to a mature radiance that can be seen as well as felt.
I glance out the window beside me, assessing the strength of the sun as we approach midday, feeling its warmth on the glass, on my cheeks, my skin, without even touching, knowing today’s forecast calls for beat-down temps in the 90’s.
I look back at my friend, absorbing the strength of her wide, deep love, thinking that truly, she shines brighter all the time. She makes me beam, the way her joy bubbles up, and I continue–
“Paul seems to be saying in his letters that there’s this inward renewal that should be happening within as we age, even while our bodies crumble on the outside. I see that in you. You’re only getting more beautiful.”
My friend is a pretty woman by anyone’s standards—her eyes a magnificent blue, her wavy hair brown-black and twisted with streaks of silver, but of course that’s not what I’m referring to now. Instead, I’m speaking of a radiance I see and feel in her that will outlast mortal living, extending toward the everlasting, toward a kind of light-infused life we can only just barely imagine here, an infusion of God that outshines the stars. I never think much from day to day about the fact that my sister’s earthly pilgrimage has been longer than mine, but today, noticing the quality of the light in her, I’m all caught up in her progressive proximity to glory.
She nods when I fall silent, and, not casting off the truth about who she is, says, “You know, instead of what I’m doing, I think it’s that God just keeps drawing me deeper into His love, just keeps inviting me to receive that I am so loved.” Her voice, quiet and suffused with awe, quavers over the admission. “It’s becoming not just a thing I know, that love, but a place I live.”
Her eyes, they just about glisten.
I think of Moses, how he used to hide the fading of God’s light from his face with a veil, what Paul said about the way that now, in Christ, as we with unveiled faces look upon God’s face and contemplate His glory, we are changed forever, with ever-increasing, unfading glory, becoming more and more like Him. I’ve noticed this about people, that we start resembling the ones with whom we share our lives, that this happens gradually as we go along until, after so many years, our communion with them becomes obvious and undeniable. Scripture says the same thing happens—my friend affirms it’s true—when we live our lives in God, walking with Him across the days and the years. So, what I’m seeing in my friend is actually the obvious mingling of her life in God, the beauty that keeps growing as she keeps breathing Him in, training her eyes on His face, turning toward Him as they go along together.
“So, what you’re saying is that you’re diving into that living water, not just standing on the bank looking at it?”
She laughs again, easy, following me back to our floating.
“Well, yeah,” she says, that grin all light, “splashing, too.”
