I used to love when the lights went out. Growing up in West Virginia, we typically lost power because of a downed tree in a summer thunderstorm. As the house filled with hot, humid air, my sisters and I would rush to light candles and play the piano, rain drumming against the roof like an accompanying symphony. 

I’d nearly forgotten what it is to go without light until the winter storm hit Texas. Four days of this kind of darkness were a far cry from the romantic summer evenings spent playing Chopin and Monopoly. This arrived with a deep, abiding cold that sank its teeth into homes and water lines and wind turbines.

That darkness, untouched by electrical current, rested heavily. Tommy and I struggled to keep spirits high. He speed-cooked dinner during 30 minutes of allotted power and we burst into laughter when the burner shut off just as he finished. We ate with a book light clipped to our bowls.

At night, we took turns sleeping with our newly minted 5-week-old against our chest to keep him warm. Sleepless (in part because of the newly minted 5-week-old), I lay in my bathrobe and waited for morning. When light began to peak through the blinds sometime around 6:30, my heart lifted with hope. It was like arriving safely on the other side of a turbulent flight or an organic chemistry exam. Pure relief.

It seems the only way I truly appreciate something is through its absence. After long hours in the dark, I realize something incontrovertible about myself – I need the light. I need it like I need water. I can’t stop daydreaming about a summer afternoon on the beach, warmth and endless sunshine stretching over the ocean. I’ll take the sunburn.

If Winter Storm Uri wasn’t bad enough, it’s been 11 months since the pandemic sent us home from work. In the beginning I felt like a kid on summer break. Tommy, unfortunately we have to stay in and bake a homemade pizza and watch a movie. So sorry! And then weeks passed. Months. Now I would exchange my pizza just to give someone a hug. Despite my introverted tendencies, I can confidently say I’m a creature of both light and socialness. I need others.

I realized something else, too. These moments of absence – darkness, coldness, aloneness – are really only enjoyed in the knowledge that they won’t last forever. Tomorrow the sun will rise. Spring will return. Birthday parties resume. Buffet lines reopen.

That hopeful expectation enables me to not only endure the darkness, but to savor it in the same way I savor a chilled breeze in autumn. I don’t like being cold, but I sure do love wearing a scarf and sipping a hot cup of tea with a friend.

These negative things are often uncomfortable, painful even, but they increase our joy for the positive when they return. Our capacity for appreciation grows. More fundamentally, experiencing the negative enables us to even recognize the positive. Could we know how to truly value time with friends and family if there was never a season of separation? 

Like discomfort, suffering is only of value if hope rests on the other side of the equation. Hope that someday the pain will end. Hope that someday justice will come. Hope that someday God will wipe away every tear. 

The waiting is the tricky part. We can keep a stiff upper lip and a positive attitude. We can find something to be thankful for during the storm – the warmth of the fire, quiet hours, hot soup. But eventually the waiting grows old. Eventually we long for the light to return, for warmth and friendship to step back into our homes. 

Until then, we hope, safe in the knowledge that no matter what life on earth holds, there is warmth and light and love waiting for the rest of eternity. 

It’s going to be 70 degrees today. Already the sky is a cloudless blue and sunshine fills every corner of my backyard, darkness dispelled. I’m expecting a new pair of purple tennis shoes in the mail. I think we’ll go for a walk.