Light Escapes Through Cracks
By McKenzie Lemmo ‘28
Each passing night, as if by ritual, my eyes flutter and I drift softly into darkness—into sleep. But some nights, the darkness transports me back to a place of fear, a time when all I could do was search and plead for a guiding light.
At sixteen years old, an infection caused by my already severe Crohn’s disease spread throughout my intestinal tract from a perforation in my bowel. The wound was deep—as my stomach was taking blows, so was my heart, anxious about what was to come. Night after night, I lay on the same sterile, solid bed, surrounded by fading yellow walls and the city-like bustle of hospital hallways. My eyes watched the creeping shadows of monitors and screens, praying for the pain to cease and for the strength to endure.
As I moved from outstretched days of pain to even longer nights, sleep was the only relief I had from the pain that hollowed my body and sharpened my soul. All I wanted and prayed for was to feel like myself again. However, I had lost all that I remembered myself to be in the swallowing fear of night, needing Christ’s light to mend my brokenness and make me whole.
I was released from my hospital cell for a brief period to attend my National Honor Society induction—it seemed crucial at the time. I limped meagerly into my old high school auditorium, my posture hunched, eyes low, and body weakened by a searing pain that struck with every step. I felt alienated from my peers because my world was shrouded in a haunting darkness they could not understand. My classmates didn’t know what to say, and I was speechless in return—unable to relate to the simplicity of my former life.
I sat closed off by myself, far from my fellow inductees; I required closer access to the stage. The advisor called my name, and I carefully began my ascent up the stairs to accept my certificate. I felt all eyes on me, painfully aware of my unsteady gait, gripping the railing on my right. I held it with all my strength, reminded that I had something secure and unmoving to keep me strong—to keep me grounded.
The liminal state between home and the hospital continued, further shaking my fearful soul. Finally, after months of pre-surgery bandages, I was back in the same sterile bed, monitors watching me like eyes, preparing me for more uncertainty. As the team prepared me to go under, I felt strongly unafraid, despite what was to come. My anxieties somehow dissolved like watercolor paint thinning on the page. A certain lightness and color came to me when I was finally put to sleep. I felt a gentle nudge, a reminder that God’s grace was protecting me, and that I need only give Him my heavy burdens.
In the weeks following that surgery, recovery was turbulent—much like the apostles rocking at sea. Yet a miraculous shift reminded me of those who followed the light of the star and found the infant Jesus awaiting them in the manger: I returned home from the hospital on Christmas Day.
After months of darkness, I was given the gift of light incarnate; the broken pieces of my wounded self were gently restored. My heart, once fractured and bewildered by fear, now overflowed with steadfast gratitude. I was surrounded by infinite love, and despite my defeated body, wholeness enveloped me.
It has been over two years since this painful memory, yet I still remember every feeling—it remains tangible each night as I lie in the strange comfort of my bedroom. But the pain and the sorrow of those days no longer follow me. Instead, gratitude persists. There is nothing I cannot endure so long as I draw strength from the Lord.
As my eyes flutter closed each night in the soft pink of my bedroom, illuminated only by a sliver of moon through the window, I recall the lonesome nights in my hospital cot, sinking into the shadow of fear. I can still hear the faint beeping of machinery, but an overwhelming peace quickly quiets it to silence. I rest easy knowing that, though no one on earth can truly comprehend the memory of my body’s pain, Jesus can—and He does, continuously.
Like the stair railing that steadied me when I could barely walk, the love of Jesus never falters. Though He has already borne unimaginable suffering to save the world from sin, He still sits with me in the loud darkness, guiding me with His unfaltering light of peace. Jesus is my foundation, steadying me before I fall.
He carries me when the weight of the world becomes unbearable. Jesus fills my heart, binding the broken together, quelling the unrest. Though small cracks will remain until Heaven, light seeps through with joy and everlasting love.
Contributed by McKenzie Lemmo. McKenzie is a sophomore at Harvard College studying English.
