A Spark in the Dark

“Bursts of color cracked open the darkness…” Jeanne Adams

It happened recently. As I pulled out of the driveway of the home I’m renting and onto the street, I glanced toward the neighbor’s yard. In the doorway sat a young boy, arms wrapped tightly around his legs, staring out into the yard and then beyond it—far beyond it. There was an emptiness in his gaze that caught me off guard, and my eyes filled with tears before I could stop them.

A few nights before, sometime between 1 and 3 a.m., I had awakened to shouting erupting from that same yard. Six or eight voices — mostly adults — were tangled in a storm of yelling, cursing, and raw anger. The fight surged and crashed like a wave, then fell silent. The mountain went still again, the quiet settling over everything like a low, drifting fog. Then the voices rose once more, another round of chaos, more shouting, more tires screeching, and then—silence again, heavy and cold. I lay in bed, afraid for the people across the street, especially the smallest one.

A few days later, an above ground pool appeared in the yard, along with a trampoline, toys, and scattered balls. School just ended. Maybe it was a birthday. Maybe it was someone trying—really trying—to bring a little joy into a hard place. That night, a different kind of fireworks lit up the sky. Bursts of color cracked open the darkness, echoing across the mountain. For a few moments, the sky glowed with reds, whites, and blues—hoping, perhaps, to bring a spark of joy to this family that seemed so worn down.

On the Fourth of July, we talk about freedom, about resilience, about the promise that tomorrow can be better than today. But we don’t get to choose the pain life hands us. We only get to choose how we rise from it, how we grow, how we keep reaching for something brighter.

How do you share that with a six-year-old sitting in a doorway, staring out at a world he’s still trying to understand? How do you help him feel the kind of freedom this holiday celebrates—the freedom to hope, to dream, to believe that his story can be bigger than the hurt he’s seen?

Maybe it starts with noticing him. Maybe it starts with kindness. Maybe it starts with one small spark—like a firework in the night—reminding him that light can still break through.

Love & light,

Jeanne Adams