This Little Light of Mine
As a grandmother, you’d expect it from me, I know. To hear me tell you that my grandson was the best, the bravest, the inspiration to us all, does not surpriseanyone. Even our David would rollhis eyes at Gramma’s praise – for what did he really want, but to live, to be aboy, to grow to be a man and yes, to be a Shamash.
Neither David nor I are Jewish, but those of you who are know what a Shamash is - the servant candle of the Menorah – the one that isused to light the others.
I too had heard the story many times – of how the oil was lit to celebrate victory, and the pure oil sufficient to burn a single daylasted eight days. Yet we seldom think about the candle that lit the victoryoil. The Shamash was the one keptready - prepared to light the other candles. His brother Michael was quick to remind me what Davidsaid himself – he was just a man – one who did not want the pain he endured,but one who was willing to search for and find the worth in it – quietly,valiantly.
Whether small and reserved and ready at the right hand, or elevated at the center, the Shamash – the lighting candle on the menorah – reminds me of our David. It gives me courage in our strugglingeconomy and soothes the fears of what may lie ahead for our country, for theworld, for me personally, and for those I care about. It speaks to me of what God has already done, assures me ofthe unexplainable He is capable of doing, and gives me courage to guard my ownlittle flame from the winds of unbelief.
Some might think David’s faith (and ours) was in vain, for didn’t he suffer, and isn’t he no longer with us? Others know better andcontinually testify as to his flame in their lives and now in others thatcontinues to illuminate their paths and point the way to peace despite life’sturbulence. And isn’t this amiracle too, that one so young completed his calling while even his grandmotherstruggles with obedience and living love restrained only by unselfishmotivation. So what can Ido?
I can listen and then I can speak. Softly, to fan the flame of hope in others who bear similar pain. I can weep. In joy as well as sorrow, I can weepwith others for like-experience brings comfort and living-evidence bringsassurance. That “knowing” like thepurest oil, brings health and strength from within when the clear vision ofvictory and purpose is held aloft. I can accept. Understanding the darkness and unknowing, I can accept others fears anddoubts, relieved no one need depend on me to do what I cannot, yet rejoice thatDavid’s candle has lit my heart so that its flame can spill over onto theirpath. I can give. The knowledge we gained researching hisdisease was for him, and also for others yet to live. The bonding of our heartsis a gift impossible without the mutual journey through deep waters. Thereceptiveness to others’ needs I would not feel as deeply had I not known bothdesolation and the joy of receiving.
Times of hardship are here for some and coming for others. Things will get hoarded and spoil or shared and used up. We may run out of heating fuel or gasfor our cars, power for light or money to purchase those supplies, but theenemy only conquers when hope is gone.
I hoped to carry that flame to our offspring; instead David passed the torch of hope to me. He carried a flamethat ignited the source - creating greater light than by glowing on hisown. Sometimes for me the coldwind of fear accompanies sharing myself, wondering will my light go out? Will my light diminish? Will I have the strength tosurvive? Surprisingly, I continually discover that instead of depending on myown light to guide others, every small selfless act (giving-up and trusting inthe Source of miracles for the strength) begets a flame that is fed by thebreath of life, designed and destined to reignite warmth and hope fromgeneration to generation. Left toitself, my light flickers at every breeze and cringes at every weather report.But God’s eternal light does not fail. Giving in His strength does not fail to give hope to the receiver aswell as to the giver.
Fear of loss outlines our future, for none of us are exempt. Alreadyour pension has been lowered; our bank account is smaller. Greater losses than possessions - ofsomeone dear, of our own health, our freedoms, loom on the horizon. Remembering what God has done throughDavid helps me to know that whatever my experience will be, it can also be aShamash for those in my circle of influence. I can speak the words of eternalhope. I can weep with those whoweep and rejoice with those who rejoice. I can accept fear in others because I too ran to God in weakness andfound that He will be my strength. And whatever I lose in this uncertainfuture, I will still have whatever I gave away.
As Dave shared through his 5 years of trials and pain, his questions always ran the same pattern – What are youdoing, God? What can I learn fromthis? How can I help othersthrough this?
His answers were revealed through his daily life and faith as one kind person wrote that ‘many are watching andwonder’. That example continues toenable me, as a survivor, to continue walking the carefully blazed trail. Eachtime I think of my grandson, and my remaining life, I think here’s to you Dave,may my questions be as unselfish as yours, my life a light of willing service,and above all may others see in me your gift of unexpected hope.
Comments
What a wonderful story!! Thank you! This meant a lot to me - as I was not familiar with the Shamash...excellent example of what it means to serve.