ImageIt’s fourth of July and we’re going home.  The bags are packed, the kids are packed, and night is falling.  Fireworks will be missed this year.

    Or maybe not.

Cruising down the interstate, an orange moon slides in and out of dark shadows.  Hot and muggy is the soup outside, but we’re protected in our A/C aluminum can.

    Darker and darker the sky becomes.


After a brief history lesson on the birth of our nation, independence from a king, and tense times for the colonies, I say “Look out for fireworks.  Look for the lights. Keep your eyes peeled.”  In my rearview mirror, the whites of eyes are as big as the moon.

Going home. The lifelong journey for the redeemed, both young and old.  Hot and muggy the path may be.  Darker the sky may appear.

    But the King is coming.  Has come.  And is here.

New birth through a Savior. Independence from being my own crummy king.  And freedom to love the King.  Colonies of light who hold the Light are scattered across the land.

    Or interstate.

“Look for fireworks. Look for the lights. Keep your eyes peeled.”

A glimmer.  Then a white sparkle of lights brightens the sky behind a silhouette of trees.  My daughter gasps.  To the left, another.  Over the bridge. To the right, some more.  A green, purple, red, and orange display showers the sky.

    All along the interstate.

I grip the wheel, juggling between keeping my eyes on the road and twisting my head to find the multi-colored displays of light jumping out of the distant trees and darkened landscape.

    Then it arrives.

An interstellar burst and kaleidoscope of colors litters the face of the sky.  We pull over and watch the finale.  Glory. Hallelujah.

    All along the interstate. Going home.

Colonies of light.  Going home. Yet, holding up the Light.  No one after lighting a lamp covers it, but puts it on a stand, so that all may see.

    For all those driving along the interstate.

The light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ.

    Glory. Hallelujah.