One night last week we were at my mother-in-law’s house, and I was washing dishes after supper. She lives on a mountain ridge in east Tennessee, and up there it gets country dark. There’s a light over the sink, and as I was cleaning up, two big moths kept slamming themselves against the window, trying to get in.
And I thought: That’s all most of us are. We’re just moths, straining for the light.
The story of our lives is the struggle to get out of the dark so we can see.