A Moment of Darkness, a Decision Made in Light

Every morning, I am reminded that another day has been gifted me, one in which I will most likely have food to eat, water to drink, and a roof to provide shelter. 

If you spoke to anyone in my family who came before me, you’d find none of the above were foregone conclusions. They came from Russia and Ukraine in the early to mid-twentieth century, and those who made it to America survived pogroms, Stalin, starvation, and Hitler. While their spiritual optimism grew quite dim before they arrived in the New World, they wasted no time in reconnecting with their faith once they settled into 1950s America. Having survived their darkest nights, my family taught me to notice how each new dawn negated the darkness that at times can envelop us all and leave us bereft and hopeless for the future, whether on a global, national, or individual scale.

In the Slavic tradition of my forebears, a candle is lit on the birthdays of those who have passed, in remembrance of their strength and courage and the hope that we can be guided by their examples. These ritual candles call to mind the Quaker tradition of seeking the Inward Light: that which guides our lives towards hope and the greater good. The act of striking a match and burning a candle gives hope. It is the essence of spiritual optimism. 

In the Slavic tradition of my forebears, a candle is lit on the birthdays of those who have passed, in remembrance of their strength and courage and the hope that we can be guided by their examples. The act of striking a match and burning a candle gives hope. It is the essence of spiritual optimism. 

When my daughters were eight and ten, I turned my love of being with children into my full-time job, working as a preschool teacher during the day and attending graduate school at night. Extremely optimistic, as usual, in my new endeavor, I was surprised to find this was emotionally and physically taxing and would require an extraordinary amount of patience both from myself and my family. 

As it always does, life intervened soon after when my mother-in-law was diagnosed with cancer. After class one evening, I approached my professor, apprised her of the situation, and told her I’d be missing several sessions.

“You cannot miss any more classes,” the woman responded.

I looked at her and attempted to breathe. I was stunned. Had she really just said that? Perhaps, in my fatigue, I was imagining it. No, she just stared back at me, as I planned my next move. Having long ago learned that the best words in scenarios such as these are no words, I simply bid her good night and left the class.

I could not remember a time in my recent life when I was so angry. As I left class and made my way to the subway, I decided to drop out of school. There was no point. I sat down on the train and thought I had one thing going for me: I had taken action. However, as the train made its way in and out of lit stations and dark tunnels, I became less sure. By the time I got home, I had made another decision: to give this situation time. At this late hour, while hungry, tired, and not thinking straight, I was in danger of reacting rashly from a place of resentment.

In the light of morning, I had an insight. (One day was what I needed, a setting and rising of the sun.) This made me feel better, almost hopeful, as if my Quaker faith was slowly returning. “Faith is more than insight,” Quaker Rufus Jones once wrote. “It is always the beginning of action.” By the end of the day, I had done some math: how much time had I invested in graduate school, and how many credits had I completed? The answer came in the dwindling light: I was more than 50 percent in. Was a dark moment with an unempathic professor going to damage my career?

The action that Jones refers to must have impact. Time to reflect as well as going to work comforted me. After all, the professor’s words had nothing to do with children or my love of teaching. She could not take away what I already had: the absolute delight of educating young children and the respect of their families.

Longtime Quaker and Virginia poet Maria Prytula, who happened to be my late mother-in-law as well as the aforementioned relative, once said that our biggest adversaries are our greatest teachers. It would take me some time to come around to this, but the professor was simply doing her job, informing me in no uncertain terms of what the rules were. In programs where licensing is the end goal, the state requires a certain number of classroom hours. Miss those hours and you don’t get your license. The most obvious question is why the professor did not simply respond by saying, come see me because we have to discuss the hours you will miss.  

Choosing not to drop out, I spent less time visiting my mother-in-law, and I passed the class and was one step closer to graduating. Most importantly, the time I spent reflecting on the incident that almost cost my career resulted in not only an important action but a deeper sense of the meaning of faith. I was also more resilient. After all, one careless comment was nothing compared to the daily challenges I faced as a classroom teacher and longtime student. It should be noted that I went to graduate school on my terms, choosing to expand a two-year program to six in order to spend more time with my family. In the end, the professor taught me that her lack of sensitivity was no excuse for my loss of faith. She also taught me that time and decision making must be done in the Light. 

In the end, the professor taught me that her lack of sensitivity was no excuse for my loss of faith. She also taught me that time and decision making must be done in the Light. 

One never knows where a message of faith will come from. Who would have thought an unpleasant exchange on a cold, dark night would remind me to stay faithful, to always take an action of impact—no matter how small—and to always return to the Light so as to connect with a sense of spiritual optimism?

Many people talk about how awful things are in the United States: that there is no sense of hope and that we, as a country, are headed in a terrible direction. While I certainly agree that we are at a crossroads, I know from my family’s experience that things have always been challenging and that there have always been new demons to face. After all, just a decade after my family’s arrival, I was born into the tumult of the 1960s: the daily domestic bombings, the escalation of the Vietnam War, and the violence that resulted in the Civil Rights Movement. These tumultuous times led into a new decade with rising gas prices, high unemployment, massive inflation, and the political landscape of Watergate.

Yet amidst the chaos, there were always the “helpers” that the late Presbyterian minister Fred Rogers referred to: those willing to communicate, fight, and agitate for social justice. In the June 1, 1964 issue (PDF) of Friends Journal, Quaker John de J. Pemberton Jr. said, “Civil rights issues cannot be resolved by officials alone; only a total commitment of the conscience of an entire people to fulfillment now of the promises of 1776 will do it.” Helping is optimistic action at its most exemplary.

Let us dwell then not in our dark moments, but in the reflection of candles lit with relentless optimism.

Are we, as a country, headed in a terrible direction?

The results of the presidential election might answer this question. Or perhaps not. It is possible that this moment, like others throughout history, is an opportunity to turn our collective despair into “the beginning of action” that Rufus Jones spoke about. It might be that such adversity proves to be our greatest teacher.

After a period of reckoning, as well as recovery—because self-care at times such as this is crucial—it is time to begin action, once more. Action is empowering, feels good, and gives us focus. Work is always better than wringing our hands. What actions can we take toward “forming a more perfect union”? The list is endless but for the purposes of brevity, I will simply choose three.

First off, there is work to be done saving the planet, volunteering at any local organization that fights climate change is a great place to start. Second, children always need our help, especially those from vulnerable communities and in the current moment, the migrant population. Finding a way to support such children and their families is another opportunity. 

My work at the polls in the past two elections has given me a new sense of the never-ending U.S. voting dilemma. In the twenty-first century, American voters still face issues of suppression, intimidation, and access, culminating in the attempted power grab of the 2020 presidential election. There is however a vast disparity in understanding simply how to vote. The inadequacy of American voter education is clearly at fault. I hope to use my skills as a writer and researcher to better understand how I can contribute to making our system one where every citizen votes, every vote is counted, and that every vote counts.

Each of the above actions reflect our inner light, guiding us towards a future filled with spiritual optimism. As Quaker Edward Burrough said, “All that dwell in the light, their habitation is in God, and they know a hiding place in the day of storm; and those who dwell in the light, are built upon the rock, and cannot be moved.”

Let us dwell then not in our dark moments, but in the reflection of candles lit with relentless optimism.