The light hurt my eyes.

I had been standing in a dark room. Pitch black. When the light came on, it blinded me. Instinctively, I scrunched my face up, closing my eyes to the light that I saw. Over the next minute or so, I kept trying to open my eyes, repeatedly feeling the pain of the light until my eyes had finally adjusted and I could look around.

My parents had told me the stories from the time I was a little girl: the Messiah would come in a way no one expected. He would come and deliver us. He would come to offer salvation and life.

I loved it when they told me the stories. But, I’m older now. The brightness in my eyes has faded and I don’t know how I feel about leaning in to such an extravagant promise. For all these years, all that has come is silence. Deafening silence. The oppression has gotten worse – the worst of all is what I find in my own heart. My parents named me for His coming. Shachar, which means “dawn”. “He would bring great Light”, they told me, “as sure as the dawn.”

I stood in the room, finally able to see the brilliance spilling out from behind the door. What could be behind the door? Should I open it? What if the room was on fire from the outside? Would I be consumed?

The rest of the room was plain, yet shimmering with, what felt like, a deep magic. I couldn’t understand what I was feeling as I walked to the door and put my hand on the handle. I could hear my heart beating in my ears as I pulled back, letting the Light in. As a rich Voice said my name, I felt known and loved all at the same time – is that even possible?

Then, I woke up, warm in my own bed. I could still feel the tingle from the Light on my face, spreading over my body, reassuring me of the promises from long ago.

My mind flickered back with hope to the Stories of old my parents told me. “The Messiah will come, Shachar, as sure and bright as the dawn.”

Now, even though it is silent, I believe it is true.

Watch and wait with me. The Messiah will come soon.

Reflection by
MIRANDA BRYANT