This little light of mine

We moved into our current home in July 1998, amid considerable pandemonium.

Between the general confusion of relocation, my husband’s job, my job and the challenge of getting our two middle-school daughters ready to start fall semester in a new school and a new city, the weeks swept past in a giant blur. I can vaguely recall standing on the cabinet in the family room, cleaning built-in wooden bookshelves that reached to the ceiling. I can recall sitting in the master bath floor, sorting toiletries we’d accumulated for no apparent reason. But I remember little else about those weeks.

Eventually, as we began to settle in, I noticed the lights over our two-sink master bath counter. A row of 12 clear-glass bulbs jutted out from 12 side-facing sockets, each socket hidden inside a shiny-brass cylindrical base, all mounted on a long shiny-brass faceplate. Nine of the bulbs looked like clear-glass globes. Three bulbs, jutting from three miscellaneous sockets, looked like glass candle flames – hanging sideways, of course. I call them chandelier bulbs.

All 12 bulbs had the same size base. All emitted light when we flipped the appropriate switch, but alas, three bulbs didn’t match.

This bothered me a bit. It would have bothered me more if I’d had time to breathe. But since all of us had way more to do than we could possibly get done, I didn’t even consider trying to replace the three chandelier bulbs with three round globe ones.

Instead, whenever I noticed the row of lights shining against a golden background and momentarily wished the three renegades matched the rest, I reminded myself, “As soon as they blow out, I’ll replace them with the round globe kind.”

Weeks turned into months; months, into years. Over time, I replaced many light bulbs, including a number of round globes hanging in the master bath.

In July 2006, eight years after we moved into the house, all three chandelier bulbs still brightened our bathroom. By then, I’d committed for the duration. Just how long would these seemingly eternal flames last?

Let me hasten to say: These bulbs did not owe their longevity to lack of use. We turn on this panel of lights as often as any lights in the house. Whenever we walk into the master bath, we flip the switch that ignites those 12 bulbs. Whenever that room has occupants – and many times when it does not – those bulbs are shining.

I didn’t record exact dates, but sometime before we reached the nine-year mark, one chandelier bulb quit, then another. I laid each to rest gently, almost sadly. July 2007, the last little chandelier bulb, holding the farthest socket from the bathroom door, celebrated another anniversary, still going strong.

Three months later, we decided the wallpaper that had graced the bathroom walls for 16 years had seen its day. On October 17, the man hired to texture and paint those walls unscrewed the 12 bulbs hanging over the master bath counter, in order to more easily reach the wall above.

Immediately, he came to me with the chandelier bulb in hand. “This bulb is loose,” he said. Wobbling dangerously in its base, the bulb could not be used again.

In Revelation 2:2-5, Jesus sent a personal letter to a group of his people. The Message paraphrases Jesus’ words this way: “I see what you've done, your hard, hard work, your refusal to quit,” it began. “I know your persistence, your courage in my cause, that you never wear out.”

Interesting, huh? Persistent. Refusing to quit. “You never wear out.”

The letter continues, “But you walked away from your first love — why? What's going on with you, anyway? Do you have any idea how far you've fallen?”

Then, this passionate outcry: “A Lucifer fall! Turn back! Recover your dear early love. No time to waste, for I'm well on my way to removing your light from the golden circle.”

Oh. Pondering Jesus’ cry, I see a picture God took nine years and three months to paint. I see a little chandelier bulb that never blew out – but had to be removed because it separated from its base.

© 2007 Deborah P. Brunt. All rights reserved.