Fireworks light up the night behind the trees in my yard. I look at their brightness, almost blinded, and feel again that thrill of something big and beautiful.
As the last embers fall, I spot another light–this one small, blinking, barely visible in the afterglow. It is a firefly (and you know how I love them from this post).
I always wonder what my little flying friends think of this holiday. I imagine a firefly going about its business, feeling happy and content with its tiny light, thinking how nice it is to add a bit of loveliness to the world on summer evenings.
Then, suddenly, an explosion of light appears above. Stunned, the firefly can’t believe her eyes at first. She has never seen anything like it. As she watches, wave after wave appears.
Then a new feeling, a new thought, “My light is not so bright after all. How can I be more like those?”
Perhaps she reads a book, goes to a conference, joins Twitter. Gone are the days of quiet contentment in the leaves of the trees. She’s networking, socializing, building a platform so one day her light can be that bright.
But she forgets, this little firefly, that hers is a different sort of light. It comes from within. Its beauty is not found in displaying but in being. It stays with her, grows with her, and long after this holiday has come and gone, it will remain.
She cannot sustain this brightness she longs to possess. Every firework burns out eventually. Her light comes as she can handle it…a little bit at a time. You see, the light of a firework is made for a moment. The light of a firefly is made for a lifetime.
After many weary days and much striving, she realizes this and she is happy again. She might still read books, go to conferences, and stay on Twitter but it feels different now that her heart has come home.
And in the glow of the fireworks the following year, she blinks, content, and it no longer matters if anyone notices.
As she does, The One Who Loves Her watches…and His smile is brighter than the glittering lights above the trees.
