Borrowed Light

Faith showed up that night as borrowed light.

The Borrowed Light

The power went out just after sunset. No warning. No storm. Just a sudden quiet when the refrigerator stopped humming and the lamps blinked dark. Jonah stood in the hallway holding his phone up like it might explain things. The screen showed no signal. He sighed and set it down.

He found a candle in the kitchen drawer. It was half used and leaned to one side, but it lit. The flame flickered and threw uneven shadows across the walls. Jonah carried it into the living room and sat on the couch. The silence felt heavier without the usual noise filling it.

He had been avoiding silence for months. Music. Podcasts. Anything to keep his thoughts from circling. The divorce papers sat unopened in his desk drawer. The future felt like a room he did not want to enter.

The candle sputtered and Jonah cupped his hand around it. He remembered something his grandfather used to say. Light does not need much space to do its job. He had laughed at that back then. It sounded like something people said when they had run out of real answers.

Now it landed differently.

Jonah leaned back and let the quiet settle. He did not pray the way he once had. No folded hands. No rehearsed words. Just a simple acknowledgment. I am afraid. I do not know what comes next.

The flame steadied. Not brighter. Just steady. Enough to see the edges of the room. Enough to remind him he was not in the dark alone.

An hour later the lights snapped back on. The candle burned low, its job done. Jonah blew it out and sat for a moment longer. The room looked the same as before. But something inside him felt rearranged.

Faith showed up that night as borrowed light. Not his own. Just enough to get through the dark stretch. Sometimes that was how grace worked. It stayed small so you would notice it.