If you know it, sing it with me: “This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine…”
This classic children’s hymn was familiar and comfortable to me when I accepted Jesus as Lord and Savior at a young age. In childhood, this light was something I naturally exuded. Nothing could contain the joy from bubbling over, the love of Jesus oozing out of every corner. It was often coupled with zealous passion and boisterous action.
Over time, however, I noticed my light dimming. The song goes on to warn against hiding light under a bushel, which always made me giggle as a child. What a silly thought to light a candle and then hide it. Matthew 5:15-16 describes this, stating that no one lights a lamp just to hide it because everyone in the house needs the light, and then extends this metaphor to the witness of a Christian’s light, which, by shining, leads others to Jesus. It’s silly to think we would hide the light—the very thing meant to bring others to Jesus. Yet isn’t that exactly what had happened to the joyous light of Jesus in me over the years?
Instead of shining, I began hiding pieces of who God made me to be in order to blend in (even within Christian communities). It’s not difficult for me to feel a level of shame for the ways in which I’ve hidden my light, but lately I’ve been leaning into Jesus’ invitation to come out of hiding.
The hymn continues with a second warning, this time against how Satan will attempt to “blow it out.” *Go ahead, sing along again and put your pretend candle-finger up, it’s fun!
It’s a more toddler-friendly way of remembering that the Enemy comes to steal, kill, and destroy.
In my life, the attempts to steal, kill, and destroy have often come through lies cosplaying as truth. They don’t start out as drastic statements that would be easily identified as lies. But when I give them attention, my flame flickers. And over time, one million momentary flickers snowball into gusts of air that threaten to snuff.
Things that started as small whispers grow into:
“You are not enough, you’ll never be enough.”
“But you’re also ‘too much,’ and no one wants to deal with that.”
“No one wants you around.”
“You’ll never know true joy.”
“You don’t have anything to bring to the table.”
“There is no place for you here.”
“You’ll never be worth understanding.”
The sneaky thief is good at his craft—he worms his way in slowly—so I often don’t even recognize the attention I’ve given him until long after I’ve believed the lies.
Jesus himself speaks of all this trouble in John 16:33, guaranteeing us that it will come. Whether the trouble lies in the lies we believe about ourselves, or in external situations or circumstances.
As I consider this metaphor of light and the trouble in the world, I picture a flame flickering about in gusts of air. Like a candle in a centerpiece surrounded by movement, I watch, warily anticipating when the flame will be overcome and ultimately snuffed out. When trouble comes along, it’s easy to feel as if I am that flame, struggling to stay lit amidst the challenges of today. I don’t know your exact story, but I do know that life in this sin-steeped world has just about snuffed my once vibrant flame.
But Jesus offers us a second guarantee in John 16:33, though the world will have trouble, we can “take heart, for [He] has overcome the world!”
Jesus himself, the Light of the World (John 8:12). God with us, the heavenly that became humanity, illuminating the Way back to the Father. There is no amount of darkness that will ever overcome Him (John 1:5), and no amount of lies that can ever change the Truth (John 14:6).
As followers of Jesus, we reflect this light in the world, inviting others to join us in living with all confidence in the Light and Life, even when the troubles and gusts come.
So, will you join me in singing this last verse of the song together?
“Let it shine till Jesus comes, I’m gonna let it shine.”
Peyton Marple
Peyton is a part of our Christ’s Church family and serves on staff at one of our Impact ministry partners, Ozark Christian College.
Peyton is pictured here with her husband, Austin, sons, Everett and Elliot, and pup, Franklin.
