Light into the Darkness

Johnstown is one of the cloudiest cities in the United States. Many days it would not surprise me to see towering, robust cloud banks bearing down on the valley or plain sheets of gray stretched over the whole city. The gray raininess to me speaks of cold days to come, time to wear comfy sweaters, slip on thick socks, bake warm breads and brew hot tea. I think of my many friends who'd prefer the gray drizzle perfect for reading in to the bright sun. In the mornings when  I drive to the farm to work, fog drifts across the road softening treelines. When I'm up on the hill feeding chickens I can look out over the trees and see the gray mist filling the valley below the blue green mountains. The clouds can be beautiful.

The crew riding home from an evening spent at another family's home. Up front - Eva and Jonathan. Middle seats - Evan and Abby.

The grayness can also mean more Seasonal Affective Disorder. Johnstown is one of the most depressed cities in the United States with hard, cold winters and comparatively cloudy summers.

Johnstown is also the poorest city in Pennsylvania. The more and more I hear about the city's situation, the flood that knocked out the steel industry, the decline of railroads and exclusion from highway development, the aging population as younger generations leave, the influx of poorer residents, and the heroine outbreak, the easier it is to see how Johnstown is struggling to redefine themselves and pick up the pieces left behind from their vibrant past.

Johnstown can be a dark place.

The unit went on a prayer walk last week down the streets of our surrounding community. As we prayed we could see the homes of our neighbors, the buildings of nonprofits whose work we prayed for, the town we were working to bless. I looked around and saw the community, the cracked asphalt, the peeling houses, the old cars, the dinginess that comes from being in a city, but I also saw the flowers in planters, the beautiful painting on the houses, the hopeful nonprofits and the signs of families living behind the closed doors and rickety porches. This is a dark city, but from within the darkness light shines. I found myself praying for the unit and for the social workers here to be God's hands and feet, God's light. Johnstown is a dark place, but in the darkest places, light has the best chance to be seen. We have such opportunity here to be seen as light.

The view down  Somerset Street at night. 

Also last week, the unit went to pick up trash in the community. I didn't expect to collect much, I didn't expect to be doing anything too unusual. While we were out, people looked at us in curiosity. One man got out of his car and asked us what we were doing? Were we being paid? Would we accept money? He said he'd never seen anyone picking up trash in Kernville. Why were we young people (of which there is already a deficit in Johnstown) spending our time volunteering to pick up trash? We were doing something unusual; we were being light, and people could see it even though our light was small. I'm praying that God will give me the mentors and strength to let my light become bolder, so that I can hold it out confidently for more people to see.

On our tree of goals for the year hanging in the living room of the unit house. 

As I walked back from the prayer walk I noticed the difference between houses with their lights on and houses with black windows. Street lamps above flicked on and off. Ahead of me, heat lightning flashed violently against the clouds of a storm lighting the whole sky, and when we got back to the house we sat around a candle in the dark, silent living room. Light in the darkness.

The candle flickering in dark