The Porch of His Presence

The Lanterns of Twilight

A Creations Parable

There was a time when the fields lay silent in the heat of early summer. The sun would set with a sigh, and the crickets would begin their nightly hymn. But the meadows remained dark—no sparkle, no flicker, only the hush of waiting.

Then, without trumpet or warning, they appeared.

Tiny lanterns, rising from the grass. A slow shimmer. A brief pulse. A soft, sacred dance.

The lightning bugs had returned.

Few noticed at first. Most had already gone inside, chasing screens or sleep. But those who lingered—the quiet child on the back steps, the old man rocking on the porch—saw them. And in seeing, remembered.

The lightning bug does not burn. It does not buzz or boast. Its glow comes gently from within, asking no applause. It shines only when the time is right—only when the darkness has come.

All year long it waits in stillness, hidden in the grasses or beneath the bark. It does not complain. It does not race ahead. It waits until the dusk is ready… and then, it glows.

Each flash is part of a pattern, a silent rhythm written by its Maker. Not one flicker is wasted. Not one pulse is out of place.

And so the Creator speaks through them still:

“Let your light be quiet and true.
Do not force it, nor hide it in fear.
I have given you a rhythm—a time to shine.
Wait for it. Trust it. And when the night comes… glow.”

For some lights are meant not to blind or boast,
But to beckon.
To guide.
To remind the watching soul
That even the smallest spark
Can be a sign of hope in the dark.