The Fourth of July may be over, but visions of fireworks still dance in my head. I never tire of seeing the annual displays, and I’m captivated by the creativity of the pyrotechnicians who seem to outdo themselves every year.
In the big cities and even the small towns fireworks always draw crowds, often at the finish of a celebration, game, or concert. Come for the event, stay for the fireworks. It’s like a noisy dessert. Just as many of us tolerate carrots and peas to get to the ice cream, so also the “Oooohs” and “Aaaahs” testify to the way these controlled explosions satisfy some inner desire for bright light delight beyond the mundane.
But no matter how high the rockets travel and how loudly they explode, we always end up in the dark. The smoky air is pungent with gunpowder, and our ears still ring from the concussions, but suddenly the night is cave-like, cold and silent. To illumine the way home we use flashlights, headlights, and street lights, not Roman candles, sparklers, and bottle rockets.
It’s a reminder that we don’t and can’t walk always in the light of life’s fireworks: the excitement of young love, the new job, the unexpected gift, a promotion, graduation, pay raise, new home, or the birth of a child. While these occasionally brighten our sky, our day-by-day journey requires a less spectacular, more reliable beam.
King David never may never have seen fireworks, but he surely understood the need for a dependable, steady life-light when he wrote,
“Your word is a lamp to my feet,
and a light to my path.”
Psalm 119:105