I Hope You’re Not Like These Kids
September 9, 2013 32 Comments
The sun came out only once – every seven years, for just one day. Margot was the only girl in the class who had seen the sun once, when she was barely old enough to remember it. But no one believed her when she tried to describe it. So they tossed her into the closet before the teacher returned to the classroom.
I read this short story by Ray Bradbury when I was in junior high. It was more memorable than the long-awaited release of The Lost World: Jurassic Park. It affected me more than my first boy/girl dance. It moved me more than even the death of Princess Diana. Hardly a month has gone by in the last sixteen years when I haven’t thought back to this story.
Why? Because of its conviction.
You see, the day they throw Margot into the closet is the day the scientists predict that the rain will stop, and the clouds will clear for just a few hours, like they did seven years ago, and the sun will come out. That’s how it is on Venus, and every single day, its inhabitants wake up to pelting rain, work by flashes of lighting, and go to sleep listening to rumbles of thunder.
But this day, they will finally see the sun, and run, and play, and tan, and smile, and laugh, and live.
But the sun will not be meant for Margot. Even though she’s anticipated and longed for this day for the last 2,555 days, she will know nothing but the darkness of a closet, and the taste of dust on her tongue, and only the faint sounds of her schoolmate’s shrieks of laughter far off in the distance.
Tomorrow her skin will remain ghastly pale while her friends show off their tans and sunspots.
I wonder. How many people in my life do I leave locked in the closet of darkness while I bask in the love and glow of Jesus?
How long will I continue to keep the light of God from those who desperately need a Savior, who are weary of being kept a prisoner of darkness, while the rest of us go to church and carry on with the benefits of God’s heavenly light?