By Phillip G. Walker
It wasn’t a promotion so much as an opportunity. At least that’s how he saw it. He’d been a lighthouse keeper for a number of years and had gotten to be where he is through God’s grace and the love and patience of a good woman. A small part of it, he figured, was listening for the doors that God had opened and learning which doors to steer clear of. Out here on the edge, where water meets land, he’d gotten pretty good at listening. Most times, anyway.
If you’d have asked a few weeks back, he’d say it was pure luck that he’d come to pass by this particular lighthouse. Not once, but several times. The first couple times, he was trying out a new boat. His mind focused on how it handled and just getting to his destination. Add to that, rough seas had caused him to pay little attention to the light other than to note how bright it was.
Truth be told, it wasn’t really a new boat. It was one he’d had for quite a few years and though he’d thought about it, fortunately couldn’t bring himself to part with. The frame was good and the engine sound, though prone to overheating at times; especially if it hadn’t been taxed in a while. There were also some issues with the wiring but he’d gotten use to which switches did what. He’d long given up trying to figure out why.
It was the body that needed a lot of work. Age and an embarrassing amount of neglect had taken its toll. Being a lighthouse keeper, it was not something he was proud of. But, it was his vow to fix up the boat that had caused him to pass by the lighthouse in the first place. A point that was not lost on him. He’d always known that God placed people where they were needed, even if they themselves never knew why.
Age had brought to him a greater appreciation for time and the sequencing of events in life. Good things in life happened in the right order for the right reasons. He’d had plenty of examples of doors closing and others popping open. But he’d learned that life wasn’t just about finding and stepping through the right doors. It also meant gaining the wisdom to know when to step through them. For him, wisdom came from using God’s gifts in the service of others, openly communicating with God and listening for his guidance.
To his shame, he’d stopped communicating and listening a good while back. Longer than he could recall, if pressed. He figured he’d lived in the area long enough and knew the waters well enough to pilot them without a compass or any other sort of navigational equipment. It was inevitable then, that he would find himself in several rough storms, feeling lost as to a way forward or just adrift. A boat without a rudder.
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His third trip past the lighthouse happened on a day late into the evening hours. He was about a mile off shore with clear skies. The seas were so calm that the surface looked like one long black sheet of glass. He’d stopped the engine and was just floating along watching the light and listening for other ships passing through on their way to parts unknown. He loved those moments when he could listen to the sounds of life. He called it “Coming to the surface.”
It was during this stop that he took more notice of the lighthouse. “This must be a new design.” he thought to himself. The beam from the lens was so strong and bright. He’d heard reports from ships more than 20 miles out stating that they could see the light as clear as if they’d been just off-shore. He’d thought their crews confused at first but they confirmed the timing of the beam and he at once knew it to be true. It amazed him.
Lighthouses are designed with a single dedicated light source that sits at the very center of the structure. Immediately around it are four huge Fresnel lenses, some four or five feet in diameter, mounted vertically on a turn-table. The shape of the lens causes the light hitting the inside surface, to be focused into a single concentrated beam that exits in a straight line out from the center of the outside of the lens. The lenses act to concentrate the beam, thereby making it brighter and visible from a greater distance. The lenses in each lighthouse rotate around the light source at different rates. This allows ships to tell which lighthouse they’re seeing based on the timing of the beams.
He spent several minutes in his small boat on the calm sea, just watching the beams slowly rotate, signaling to ships way off in the distance, acting as their guide to points forward and safe harbor. The fact that the light was so bright continued to amaze and fascinate him. He’d never seen one like it before.
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To say that he was pleased at the opportunity to work on the lighthouse would be an understatement. With each passing trip, he’d continued to appreciate the strength of the light coming from it. If there was a chance to help maintain it, or help make it even brighter, he would not say no. He felt that this was a door that God had opened for him.
His curiosity had led him to read things about the lighthouse. Having witnessed its brightness first hand, he wanted to know how it had gotten to be there. He’d read documents about other keepers and the engineers who worked on it. He was troubled by the challenges they faced. How they had struggled to create a foundation strong enough to support it. The light was going to be one of the tallest and brightest so it had to have a solid foundation. One that could stay true in high winds and rough seas. Being so close to the shore, this proved more challenging than they expected. Eventually, they found a way to set the foundation and support the light the way that it needed to be.
The light itself was a new more compact size. When fully charged, it gave off a light so brilliant that engineers considered doing away with the Fresnel lenses because they weren’t needed. It was comprised of materials that had survived rigorous trials and even several failures. Yet it had proven so resilient that, even in a weakened state, it still gave off a light bright enough to guide ships passing miles away. Once the engineers and lightkeepers witnessed this, they knew that this was to be the source for their lighthouse.
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The day came when he was given the opportunity to help with the lighthouse. He guided his small craft to the dock at the base of the cliff on which the light was built. He climbed the narrow wooden stairs to the landing area half way up. After taking a moment to look around, he finished the climb and approached the light. He noted, with a grin, that it looked a lot shorter from further away. They always did.
Climbing yet another set of stairs, this one circular, he slowly made his way to the top of the lighthouse. It was mid afternoon and so the light wouldn’t be needed for a number of hours. Though the light itself was turned off, the Fresnel lenses were still doing their slow rotation about it.
This was often the case for lighthouses. The light was off on days with clear weather, but the focusing system remained on. He couldn’t remember the reason for it. But it made sense to have the focusing equipment available the very moment the light needed it. And it was this equipment that required the most maintenance.
When properly fueled, the light would burn bright and guide ships over 20 miles out at sea. For ships threatened in heavy seas, he knew how important it was for the light to work. To be their guide in the darkness and when storms hit. Well anchored by several connections to its base at the center of the lighthouse, the light stood strong and true, never wavering or tilting this way or that. To do so, would cause the beam to weaken or project at an angle instead of straight and true. Though he’d read about problems with the connections earlier on, the light before him never wavered.
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Driven by equal measures of fascination and curiosity, he studied the light and the machinery closely. He’d been around lighthouses before and so it was easy for him to identify the different pieces and what role each played. To be honest, there weren’t that many. Besides the light, the lenses and turntable, the only other important piece was the drive motor. It had the responsibility for moving the turntable, thereby rotating the beams of light.
The drive motor was attached to the base of the light, just below the turntable supporting the lenses. On one end of the motor was a small gear that meshed with a set of metal teeth that formed a ring around the outside of the turntable. It was important that the motor move the turntable at the correct speed so that ships could identify the lighthouse and calculate their position relative to it.
It was his experience with the machinery that drew his attention to a slight stutter in the movement of the lenses about the light. He was watching and listening to the sounds of the machinery when he noticed the turntable stop for just a moment before continuing to rotate. He studied the movement of the lenses and turntable several minutes longer and noted the exact position at which the stutter happened. When that moment happened the next time, he quickly cut power to the motor and waited for it to stop. Experience had told him that this was not good.
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Walking to the opposite side of the platform, he picked up the tool box and brought it around to the side of the light where the motor was. Good lighthouse keepers always kept a toolbox near the light. It contained everything they needed to repair it and keep it in working order. The primary keepers of this lighthouse were no different. He’d had the pleasure of meeting several of them and knew that what he’d read of their commitment and dedication was true.
Sitting himself down near the base of the light by the motor, he leaned in, hoping not to find what he expected to see. But the problem was there, just as his experience told him it would be. There were several worn teeth in the ring attached to the turntable. Five to be exact. The gear on the motor would mesh properly with the teeth on the turntable and move it until it reached this point. Then it slowed for a second. Just a second. But it was enough to throw off the timing and possibly confuse ships using it for navigation. It had to be fixed.
Fixing it meant taking it apart and that meant several hours of work. He looked at his watch and consulted a sheet in his shirt pocket that noted the time of the setting sun each day that month. He needed to work fast to get this repaired. The light had to have the focusing machinery working properly in order for the ships to use it for navigation.
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Curiously, it was at this point when he worked on a lighthouse that he felt a sense of calm. He’d worked on lighthouses in the past and helped to keep them shining bright. They in turn, had helped him. When a problem was found, there were always tense moments when the cause had to be determined. But once found, the path forward, at least for him, was always assured and he felt a renewed sense of purpose. At times, he felt as if God were guiding the movement of his hands and the words from his mouth. He came to relish those moments for the healing they brought and the affirmation of God’s grace.
Here and now, scanning over the machinery one more time, he assessed what needed to be done, checked his watch and then set about the task at hand. Opening the tool box, he picked out the tools he would need. Screwdriver, Allen wrench, pliers and a hammer were set on the floor to his right. The toolbox was pushed to the outside wall and out of the way.
The ring of teeth that formed the perimeter of the turntable were actually cut into eight equal sections like slices of a pie. This was done primarily for maintenance purposes. If a section became worn, as was the case here, it could be quickly replaced and the machinery restored to working order. There were several replacement pieces, still in the box they were shipped in, on the floor near where the toolbox had been. He walked over and removed a section from the box and examined it for any flaws or issues. He found none.
Setting the new piece on the floor near him, he sat down and began the task of taking the worn piece of gear off the turntable. It was while he worked that he began to appreciate the opportunity afforded him. It had always been this way. He thanked his dad for dragging him under the hood of the cars they worked on. For showing him how to use all the tools in his basement workshop. He remembered all the water pumps they fixed for people, not really caring if they could pay or not. And he thought of his own wiring projects for light and sound around the house as he grew up. He thanked his mom for teaching him patience, faith, how to treat people and how this place was only a path to something even greater.
While using the tools to loosen the worn piece, he thanked the primary keepers for allowing him this task. He thanked God for creating a light that shined so bright. For filling him with curiosity for machinery and the skills by which to maintain it in the way that He intended.
It was in these moments that he felt the Lord’s pleasure. When he used his skills to help others. Be they lighthouses or pilots of their own vessels, it did not matter. Some had come in from storms of their own making and he would listen and do what he could with the help of God’s grace. Others were just trying to get to the next port and he was happy to help in any way possible. Doing so was for him, the manifestation of his faith, his desire to help people, to make their lights shine bright or navigate through rough seas.
Finally, he had the worn piece removed. It had taken longer than expected because some of the screws holding it had “weathered”. They had gone through years, months and days of heating and cooling at the top of the tower and grown reluctant to any movement. Hence was the need for the hammer to encourage them.
He didn’t discard the worn piece. He looked at it, noting the wear pattern from all the years of movement. He mentally calculated the number of times that the turntable had rotated since the piece had been installed and he thanked it for its service. Just as he did the raspberry plants, growing in the small garden back home. As he picked each berry, he thanked the plant and God for the simple gifts. The removed piece had done what it was meant to do. To rotate the beams of light. Like the many keepers before him, it had worked for as long as it could. He set it down next to the tool box as he thought of ways to repurpose it.
Grabbing the replacement piece, he quickly put it into position and began the task of lining it up so it would mesh seamlessly with the gear on the motor. Because of slight differences in the manufacturing process, the pieces could be shifted left or right about an 1/8th of an inch along the perimeter of the turntable. This is the part that took the longest as you had to position the piece, secure it and then turn on the motor and watch the turntable to make sure that it rotated smoothly. If there was any jerking or sudden shift, it meant the new piece was out of alignment and needed to be adjusted.
Again, it was his experience and his affirmation of God’s gifts that helped as he loosened the piece and without thinking, moved it to the proper position. He secured it. Set the tools down and turned the motor on.
Standing back, he watched as the turntable and lenses rotated smoothly about the light. He stared at a fixed point near the top of one of the lenses and followed it. It was a trick he’d been taught by another keeper. The eye would catch any sudden and unexpected movement of that point. He did this for several more minutes, assuring himself that the focusing equipment was once again working properly.
He packed up the tools and put the toolbox back where he’d found it. He wrapped the worn piece in the cloth that had covered its replacement and carried it downstairs with him. He’d checked the controls on the wall and the light was set to come on as soon as darkness hit. He felt grateful for knowing how to fix the equipment. He thanked God for letting him be His instrument.
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It was sometime after nightfall when he walked out to the edge of the cliff. He’d decided to stick around to see the light in action up close one more time. Leaning on the railing, feeling the cool night breeze, he again marveled at the brightness of the beam. He imagined all of the ships and all of the passengers on those ships that the light he’d helped to fix, would in turn help.
He knew, from weathering his own storms, how much of a relief it was when a light appeared. The sense of peace that washed over him, vanquishing his fears and rinsing away the mental fog that blocked his vision. He knew there were others still navigating rough seas and how important it was for the light to shine brightly for them.
He sought no credit for this light or its existence. As a lighthouse keeper, he understood that his role was to maintain the lights which God had created. As he looked out over the water and watched the beam of light, he again thanked God for creating this very bright one.