Friday, May 9, 2014

Let there be light... please!

"thrust from light into darkness"
Job 18:18

So yesterday I played a rerun of mine ~ a post about pilots, and an experiment that showed them that their senses were not necessarily to be trusted.  The basis of the experiment was a spinning chair. 

Now, I haven't thought about that post, or those pilots, or that chair, in a couple of years, but I thought about it a lot last Tuesday, as I sat, in the dark, strapped into a chair that was indeed, spinning. 

I've been having issues with vertigo since late January.  Not a day has gone by that I'm not bothered by it to some degree.  So after seeing my eye doctor and my gynecologist, and my general doctor, and an ear/nose/throat doctor, I was sent to a "hearing and balance" center this week.  I sat through a myriad of tests.  Some were directed at checking to see if my eyes were doing what they were supposed to under certain circumstances.  Some were testing my hearing.  I also had to work to maintain my balance in a small booth where the doctor was moving the floor and the walls.

And then there was the chair.  It was in a large booth, or a small room, however you want to describe it.  Round, and about a foot wider on all sides, than the chair.  She strapped me in, a harness over each shoulder, and then shut the door, leaving me in pitch black.  I was in there for probably 15 minutes, doing a variety of tests.  She would project a laser beam on the wall, and I was supposed to track it with just my eyes:  up, down, left, right... Or she would project hundreds of white circles on the walls, and spin them, and I was supposed to try to count as many as I could, without moving my head.  Then we repeated these same activities, but with the chair moving left and right, at varying speeds.  And then I had to keep my eyes looking directly forward, even after the little red light was gone.

Most of what was happening was fairly interesting.  I'm a curious person, interested in a host of subjects, so I asked a lot of questions and wondered what it would be like to be an audiologist.  Not that I have the tenacity to get through eight years of schooling on the subject...

But oh, that tiny, dark room.  So disconcerting... so unsettling.  That little red light that was projected on the wall became my comfort.  It gave me focus, and perspective, and reassurance, somehow.  And when it was gone, I could feel my eyes flitting about, wandering almost of their own accord as I tried to hold them steady.

Naturally, I started thinking about the importance of light in a dark place.  About Jesus, the Light of the world.  About the pillar of fire that God used to light the way for the Hebrews.  I thought, "The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear?" and "Thy word is a lamp unto my feet and a light unto my path."

And when she turned the light off, it wasn't the spinning that bothered me, it was the darkness.  {Of course, I'm not a pilot, so I knew I wasn't going to have to make critical, if simulated, decisions upon the completion of the spinning.}

But even when the light was gone, God was still there, (I'm speaking metaphorically as well as faithfully.)  Because when the light was gone, there was still sound.  There must have been a vent or a fan of some kind, because I could hear air blowing, and though it wasn't loud, I could tell when my chair returned to facing forward, because of the position of that sound.  And then I thought about His promise that we will hear Him.

I thought about Moses hearing God in the midst of the burning bush.  I thought, "If today you hear His voice, harden not your heart." and "My sheep know my voice."  And I thought of His voice from heaven saying, "You are My beloved Son; with You I am well pleased." and "This is My Son; hear Him!"

It was not a difficult experience for me, although I was glad when it was over.  I wasn't frightened, or in pain or anything.  I was just tolerating it until it was over, in hopes of explaining why I've been experiencing my symptoms.  And yet, I was grateful for the reminders that He is always with us, and that we will always know it.  I wouldn't have thought so much about a tiny little dot of light, if it hadn't been the only light I could see.  And I wouldn't have thought about that sound, if my sense of sight hadn't been temporarily useless.

Seriously... this is what it looked like!
It was a nice reminder for me of what I've long known about Him, and a good illustration that sometimes we only focus on Him when our myriad distractions are removed.

~ "and God saw that the light was good" ~
Genesis 1:4

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