It was one of those pitch black nights back on the farm, and my father had asked me to go out to the well and get a bucket of water.  We didn't have indoor plumbing in those days and for some reason, the well was a good hundred yards from the house.  Now I'd never minded going after the water during the daylight, but my imagination was just as vivid as any young boy.  And I wasn't too excited about going out into the blackness just for a bucket of water. 

When my apprehension became quite clear to my father, without a word he went out and got a lantern, returned, lit it, and put it in one of my hands and the bucket in the other. Still not convinced, I pointed out that I could only see about eight feet in front of me.  I never will forget my father's words.  "Just walk down the path until you've come to the edge of your light." 

I'm sure you know what I discovered.  I never reached the edge of the light.  As I stepped forward, the path was always lit for about eight feet in front of me.  I had no difficulty in following the path and filling the bucket.  Life calls only for one step at a time, and light will be given.