My pianist sister was traveling in East Africa as a musical ambassador. Her job was to meet with university students, perform for local audiences, work with school kids who dreamed of becoming musicians. One night as she and the violinist ambassador were being driven to their next gig, she commented on the utter darkness through which they were traveling. “I thought there were people here,” she said. “Oh, yes,” their driver assured her. “Many of them–about 250,000, I think.” “But where are the lights?” she asked. “Oh, they cannot afford the energy for that. When it is night, it is night.”
Recently, someone showed me an astonishingly beautiful photo of the earth taken from space. It, too, was night, but in this picture great spirals of galactic glitter had been cast across the dark land masses: the cities with their millions, the nations with their billions. I thought, what if God sees something different than I do? Not light pollution, not technology run amuck, but the radiance of the human mind at work?
And what if I could see it too: the fiery tracery of thought, of children singing brightly in the dark, electricity be damned.