Walking Into the Dark Half

My boys,

It surprised you how early it got dark.

We had eaten dinner, and there was still enough evening left that nobody wanted to be inside.

"Can we go for a walk?"

I looked out the window.

A month ago, I would not have thought twice about it.

Tonight the trees were already disappearing.

"Get your shoes."

One of you looked outside.

"But it's dark."

"I know."

I opened the drawer and handed each of you a flashlight.

That changed everything.

Suddenly darkness was an adventure.

We stepped outside.

Immediately, three beams began moving everywhere except the path.

Trees.

Windows.

The underside of leaves.

My legs.

Each other's faces.

"Guys. Ground."

For approximately four seconds, there were three obedient circles of light on the ground.

Then one discovered a spiderweb.

We stopped.

After a full scientific investigation, we kept walking.

The neighborhood felt different.

Same road.

Same houses.

Same trees.

But darkness removes the unnecessary details.

You notice sounds more.

Your footsteps.

Leaves moving.

A dog somewhere beyond the houses.

The small click of a flashlight being adjusted in someone's hand.

We reached the path near the trees.

One of you slowed down.

"Baba?"

"Yeah?"

"What's over there?"

You pointed your flashlight toward the woods.

The beam reached twenty feet.

Beyond that, nothing.

"I don't know."

You moved closer to me.

I could have told you there was nothing to be afraid of.

Parents say that a lot.

But it isn't true.

There are things to be afraid of.

There are places you should not go.

There are situations where fear is useful.

Fear is one of the ways God teaches the body to pay attention.

So I told you something else.

"You don't need to see the whole woods. You just need to see where you're stepping."

You looked at the flashlight.

Then the path.

We kept going.

That is how we walked for the next half hour.

Twenty feet at a time.

Sometimes less.

When the path curved, we could not see beyond it.

We reached the curve anyway.

Then the light showed us the next piece.

At one point, one of you turned your flashlight off.

"I can still see."

Your eyes had adjusted.

So we all stopped.

Four flashlights clicked off.

Dark.

For a few seconds, nobody moved.

Then the world slowly returned.

The sky was not black anymore.

The road became faintly visible.

The oak trees became enormous shapes against the stars.

A porch light glowed far behind us.

One of you whispered,

"It's not that dark."

Exactly.

Sometimes your eyes need time to learn a different kind of light.

We turned the flashlights back on and headed home.

The walk back was easier.

Nothing about the darkness had changed.

We had.

That is worth remembering.

You will spend much of your life trying to arrange conditions so you can move confidently.

Enough information.

Enough money.

Enough certainty.

Enough proof.

Enough light.

Sometimes you will have it.

Sometimes you won't.

There will be seasons when God lets you see far down the road.

There will be seasons when you are given twenty feet.

Do not confuse limited visibility with being lost.

Walk what you can see.

Then walk what appears next.

Winter works this way.

The days shorten.

The trees empty.

The world seems to withdraw.

We respond by making light where we can.

A lamp.

A fire.

A flashlight.

A table.

A home.

Faith.

Not enough light to illuminate the entire winter.

Enough for tonight.

When we reached the house, you ran ahead.

Warm light spilled through the windows onto the yard.

One of you turned around and shined your flashlight back toward me.

"Come on, Baba."

I was coming.

I watched the three of you disappear through the door.

Then I stood outside for another moment.

Behind me was the dark road we had just walked.

Ahead was the house.

Tomorrow night would arrive a little earlier.

Then earlier again.

That is where the year is going now.

Toward the dark half.

We will not fight the season.

We will carry light into it.

I love you.

— Baba

Question:

How much of the road do you believe you need to see before you are willing to take the next step?

Moral:

Courage is not pretending darkness contains nothing to fear. It is learning to move wisely when you cannot see the whole road, trusting God for enough light to take the step that is actually yours.

This story reflects real experiences and philosophies behind Backyard Brew. It is shared to inspire perspective and intention.

Author: R. Solace