When my grandmother was young, she would sit me on her lap, hold my hands in hers and pat them to a beat.
As she tapped her feet, the beat in her heart transmitted to mine.
She would then sing…
“This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine. This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine. This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine. Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine.”
I’d like to say she sang a remix with “Yes, Jesus loves me” but I think I’m making that part up.
Memories are funny that way.
For example, when I heard about 90s singing sensation George Michael passing away, I thought,
“there is one less light tonight. Another candle has been blown out in this increasingly dark world.”
My nana’s lullabys caused me to believe singers shine their light most effectively. Since sound creates worlds and governs the natural laws of the universe; singers balance light -vs dark.
As long as one light burns, however, it will overcome darkness. Darkness, on the other hand, desires its completeness.
Ongoing is the battle.
As I sat on my nana’s lap, listening to her contralto voice, reminiscent of the “Queen of Gospel” Mahalia Jackson, I didn’t know her lyrics were wrapping me up in a shield of armor preparing me for war.
Looking back, I now realized my nana armed me with the only weapon I would ever need to fight a war emboldend by the darkness…
My little light… shining brightly.