Follow the Light

Looking at an old picture with my father, he stated, “You see that lightbulb above the door there? That was installed over fifty years ago.” Staring at a picture of the door frame at the Big Sandy Church of God of Prophecy, where my father grew up, he continued, “I preached there this past Sunday, standing behind the pulpit your grandfather built over thirty years ago. What an honor to fill the same pulpit I sat under while growing up. It’s the church where I spent my teen years; the place where I answered the call to preach. It’s the place where I learned to play the piano and attended weddings and funerals of friends and family members. Your grandfather’s fingerprints are all over the foyer and baptistry.”

He looked up, saw the light bulb above the door, and said, “Your Grandpa was working for the railroad at the time. He was on call every day. He would have been fired if he missed the call and did not report to work. Memphis, where he had to report, was several hours away from the small town of Big Sandy, TN.” He told me, “Your Grandpa and another man from church engineered a small lightbulb above the back door in the Sanctuary. It was connected to the phone line in the church office. Grandpa left instructions with the railroad to call the church office instead of his home as an alternate number. If the phone rang, the light bulb would light up, and Grandpa would go downstairs to the office and take the call so that he could report to work. That is how much your grandpa believed in Church attendance. Instead of staying home to wait for the call, he valued his calling as head of his home. He made sure he took his family to church.”

Heading out of town on vacation, we were packed to the max: three rows, three kids, and a luggage rack strapped above the SUV. I casually stated, crawling from front to back and tending to little needs, “There doesn’t seem to be much traffic on the interstate. Course, it’s midweek, so that’s probably why.” Chuck slowly looked at me and said, “It’s Saturday, Kristen.” “Oh,” I calmly voiced as if it was OK not to know what day it was and went on helping kids in the backseat.”

“Look! The water has sprinkles on it,” Charlotte yelled from our back patio view of the ocean. I could hear their excited screams as they chased waves and built sand castles along the shore. At night, their giggles would carry across the water as they caught crabs in their fish nets. I could see their flashlights moving along the shoreline with their daddy. My heart was full as I watched him. He was filling past shoes well.

Trying to take the kids to an outdoor lawn park and enjoy a picnic, we didn’t realize how hot riding along in the golf cart was. When we reached our destination, everyone was sweating, and no one was hungry. The eatery lines were too long, and the parking was a nightmare, even if you were driving a side by side. We decided we better take the kids back and figure out a new evening plan, so we headed back to our condo. The girls were disappointed and hot. Tyson was riding along like a trooper, enjoying the breeze that swept over his car seat. “We will make lemonade out of lemons somehow, girls.”

Sitting around the table eating delicious hamburgers and French fries, by special request from the girls, we began to laugh thinking about the events that had happened earlier and the shoe I collected from the middle of the road when we heard a knock on our door. Our neighbor asked if our girls would like to enjoy a snow cone with all their grandchildren. The kids were all running around the backyard playing while the adults sat around, visiting against a sunset backdrop and the sound of waves crashing against the shore. Holding Tyson, I leaned over to Chuck and whispered, “It looks like we made lemonade out of lemons after all.” He smiled.

Clouds began to build way off on the horizon while we played on the beach and jumped the waves. Chuck noticed the man who sat up chairs and umbrellas was quickly trying to collect and pack away before the storm reached us. Chuck handed me Tyson and said, “I will be back.” I watched him throw umbrellas on his shoulder faster than the man could keep up. Together, they collected all the chairs and umbrellas in a fraction of the usual time.

A few days passed, and not much thought had been given to the kind deed until we came down to our tent on the beach one morning, and donuts were sitting on the chair. There was an assortment for the whole family to enjoy! The tent beside us said, “The umbrella guy left those donuts as a Thank You. He said they were for the big Alabama football guy and his family.”

Keeping the midnight hour with Tyson, I found myself irritated. I was on vacation. Everything was supposed to be catered to my every need. I could hear my sweet friend’s voice in my head, “You get to change locations, but the work remains the same.” I looked from our balcony and saw the moon cut a clear path over the water. The moonbeams danced on the waves as one followed the next. Tyson was dozing back off in my arms, and sleep would soon find me again. I began thinking back to six years ago when we came to the same place with only Eva. She was two years old. We returned with our family complete: a spicy Charlotte and a handsome little prince. I had three blessings tucked snuggly away and a husband who loved me. I saw the beauty in the Lord’s handiwork. “Follow the light, Tyson. Stay within its beams, and it will lead you home. Let Jesus be your light.”

We packed up early and headed for home. Toting sleeping little ones in the dark, we strapped them in and were ready to beat the traffic when the Truck would not crank. Not a person in sight so early in the morning. I took the kids back inside and began to pray for God to send someone to help Chuck get a jump start. It wasn’t long before headlights pulled into the parking lot. Of all the people, the man who left donuts under our tent stepped out. Chuck asked him for a jump, and he responded, “Happy to help you out, man!” Tiny seeds of kindness had sprouted in our favor.

“So, the light bulb is still there? Yes, it is, girls. All these years, the light bulb is still there.” I saw the wheels turning. Eva spoke, “Grandpa made something that would last for a long time, didn’t he?” I looked at Chuck. She was talking about the bulb, but I was talking about the light. His choices have left a lasting ember that still burns generations later.

Because of the light, my grandpa refused to let go out; I could make lemonade out of lemons, see moonbeams in the midnight hour, and hear the sound of a good Samaritan coming to our rescue.

May we continue to follow the light.

I pray that the sharing of your faith may become effective by the acknowledgement of every good thing which is in you in Christ Jesus. Philemon 1:6