I was listening to a sermon once about transformations. The minister pointed out that light is disruptive to the darkness. When I finally landed from Truth’s thrust I found myself in a room full of light. Whiter then white. In fact, it was so white, I couldn’t see. Light that bright can’t be comprehended by blind eyes, eyes used to functioning in the darkness. I was terrified. Naked. I didn’t know anything, had no skills or tools to use to find my way out. I wanted to speak, to demand answers, but I couldn’t begin to put into words the terror I felt. I had no understanding. I thought about running back to the darkness from which I came, but the light wouldn’t allow it. “Jesus,” I managed to push out in a faint whisper. I was so thirsty I could hardly speak.
Just then, a hand offered me a glass of water. I couldn’t see the stranger’s face, but the need for thirst dispelled any time for reasoning or logic. “I am Mercy.” Another had appeared offering me thick black shades. I hesitantly reached for them and placed them onto my eyes in hopes of lessening the blinding light. “I am Grace.” I looked up and was greeted by the smiling faces of an old African American couple dressed in all white. I didn’t recognize them, but they reminded me of my grandparents. I could tell they were older, but not by wrinkles or grey hair. Their skin was smooth, pure. I could only tell their age by their eyes that were filled with wisdom. As I was getting ready to open my mouth and ask the questions that my mind was beginning to form, they both smiled at me and pointed toward a house lit on the top of a hill in the distance. They grabbed both of my arms, one of the pair on each side, and lifted me to my feet. I didn’t notice how tall they were until I was standing. Their stature towered over mine, as we began walking in the direction of the home. I was caged in by the friendly strangers, one of them on each side as I walked snug in the middle. Protection.