Light and darkness are easy to understand in simple, physical ways.

You walk into a room and flip on a light switch, and the difference is immediate. You can see what’s there. You can find what you’re looking for. When you’re driving at night, your headlights don’t show you everything — just what’s ahead — but that’s enough to keep moving and avoid what’s in the way.

Light gives visibility. It gives direction.

Light also warms.

If you’ve ever been hiking on a cool afternoon, you know the feeling. You walk through the shade of the trees and then step back into the sun. Almost immediately, you feel the difference. Your body relaxes. You feel better.

Darkness is different.

I remember hiking to a cave several times as a teenager. Part of the tour involved turning off the lights completely. Not dim. Not low light. Complete darkness. You couldn’t see your hand in front of your face.

What surprised me wasn’t just that I couldn’t see. It was how quickly everything changed.

I felt uneasy and disoriented, unsure of where I was standing or which way to move.

Darkness didn’t just remove sight. It made it harder to know what to do next.

Sometimes we see that same contrast in the world around us.

You see it in how people talk to each other. In comment sections full of anger. In social media feeds where people tear each other down. In public conversations where it feels like everyone is fighting.

It doesn’t take much effort to notice when something is damaging, when it’s shrinking people instead of helping them grow, when it creates confusion instead of clarity.

Often, it’s easier to see that contrast out there before we ever notice it in ourselves.

Eventually, though, life invites us to make it personal.

There are experiences that lift us. They don’t just happen around us — they do something inside us. They leave us a little more aware, a little more open.

I remember, as a teenager, going to feed the homeless on a Sunday morning — once with my family, once with my church. What stayed with me wasn’t just the act itself. It was how I felt afterward.

I felt more aware. More grateful. More connected.

Something had shifted. That was light.

I’ve noticed that when I let more light into my life, it doesn’t stay contained to one moment.

It changes how I think about myself and how I show up for the people around me. I find myself wanting to do better — not because I’m supposed to, but because it feels right.

I want to be a better father and husband. I want to be more patient, more honest, and more kind.

That desire has become one of the clearest signals I’ve found.

If what I’m doing is helping me become more grounded, more thoughtful, and more connected to God and to others, I’m moving toward the light.

Darkness has signals too.

If you’re doing things you wouldn’t want anyone else to see, that’s usually a good indicator. Not as condemnation — just as information.

Darkness tends to narrow our focus. It isolates. It makes things smaller.

And the longer we stay there, the harder it becomes to see clearly.

One thing I’ve learned is that light tends to lead to more light.

When you experience it, you become more aware of what you’re taking in — what you watch, what you listen to, what you spend time on. Without forcing it, you start letting go of things that don’t help you or the people around you.

Not all at once. Not perfectly.

But consistently.

Over time, those choices matter.

What we consume. What we practice. What we allow into our lives.

Light doesn’t just affect us. It shows up in our homes, our relationships, and the way we move through the world.

Light helps us see more clearly. It helps us choose more carefully. It helps us move forward.

And once you’ve experienced it, you begin to recognize both its presence and its absence more quickly.

Because light doesn’t just help you see what’s in front of you.

It shapes how you live.