Are We Becoming Too Comfortable with Lesser Light?
Some years ago, I attended a concert in a small performance hall on a college campus. On her violin, our daughter-in-law was accompanying a pianist as he delighted a full house of music lovers for an hour concert. On the edges of our seats, we paid careful attention while he entertained us with complicated piano pieces from his broadly assorted repertoire.
Near the end of the concert, I noticed the pianist gesturing discreetly to the fellow in the sound booth. Immediately after that nod, the lights in the room burst instantaneously into such brightness that we all squinted and even covered our eyes to defend against the shock of the wattage. Responsive to our surprise, the pianist offered an explanation for the offense. He proceeded to share a provocative metaphor that I continue to reflect upon and learn from.
The pianist confessed that prior to the concert, he had instructed the sound engineer to gradually dim the lights in the house. Over the course of the hour concert, that sound technician had very slightly lessened the light in the room. Near the end of the concert, responsive to a cue from the pianist, he abruptly returned the lights to the original full position. The audience had been so intent on the music that we had not noticed the slowly dimming light. When the light was restored to its original full position, our eyes had become accustomed to lesser light and had spontaneously adjusted to the dimness. We had, in fact, become so comfortable with the lesser light that we squinted and squirmed and felt discomfort in the level of light that had welcomed us when the concert began. We not only didn’t miss or desire full light, we actually resisted and were initially offended by it.
Without realizing it, we had accepted the lesser light without seeking and craving the bright light that is always and forever a glorious heavenly endowment available to us to lighten our hearts and brighten our way. As we readjusted to the full light and reclaimed complete access to a clear and detailed view of our surroundings, we were grateful for the return.
The metaphor of dimming light is clearly relevant in a figurative sense as a caution for us all. Those house lights grew dimmer as a result of instruction from the people in charge of the ambiance in the room. Certainly, the figurative light in the spaces we inhabit is also profoundly affected by the people we choose to invite or allow to manage important life light switches. Types of activities and quality of conversation and music all effect the quantity and quality of light in the rooms of our lives and hearts. Both choosing wisely and admitting influences carefully inevitably illuminate or dim our brightness of vision and lightness of heart.
A new bishop of a large Polynesian ward shared that he grew up in a very large family of a dozen brothers, some genetic, some adopted. Those assorted young fellows had each made their own choices of friends and pastimes. Many of them had welcomed people and influences into their lives that had compromised light.
As a result, many of the bishop’s brothers were struggling with the effects of stumbles, falls, and fear – all inevitable consequences of too little bright and encouraging light. His life, on the other hand, had been generously illuminated by good friends and their welcoming families and his own carefully chosen investment of personal time. He was giving thanks for the brightness of hope and promise that was the result of those influences and choices that had so profoundly affected the lighting of his life.
I have heard it said that it is good to point out the light at the end of dark tunnels to help others find their way, and that it is better still to hold up a flashlight to illuminate the path, but it is best of all to grow so personally bright by deliberately choosing light that we ourselves actually offer the light. We radiate a brightness that provides spiritual confidence for ourselves, and illumination for others. We become the light. I know people who show and tell me where to go. I know others who raise lanterns of light that enable me to choose a safe and happy way forward. I especially crave the influence of those who themselves are so bright with joyful light that I simply see better and more clearly in their company.
Sometimes we make plans for a day or set goals for a year based on what we want to do. Perhaps the planning would be of a higher and holier caliber if we thought instead of what we wanted to have happen and who we wanted to become rather than beginning by what we wanted to do.
For example, rather than determine that I was committed to reading the scriptures every day for thirty minutes, I would likely find higher and holier motivation if I began my personal plan by determining that I wanted to have more constant, fully illuminating and inspiring light from the Spirit in my life every day. One step I would take to advance that cause of greater light, would be to commit to studying the scriptures daily.
Similarly, rather than content myself by simply determining that I wanted to lose weight, I might be more genuinely seeking to have and be light if I determined that my real objective was to honor the sacred and promising stewardship of my body, and that I wanted to live to facilitate its usefulness to myself and to others. With a vision of achieving that objective as my starting place, my sights would be set on more lasting, more light-filled commitments. Any plan of action seeking to increase personal light is better begun by asking ourselves, “What do I want to have happen?,” then next proceeding to “What do I plan to do?”
Sometimes the simple and relentless effects of persistent gravity nudge the dimmer switches of our lives into lower positions. Deliberately keeping our fingers on those dimmer switches to keep them firmly in the up position is essential. The gradual effect of the gravity of life causes lessening of spiritual light. Without personal intentionality, the almost imperceptible influence of mortality can cause us to wander off course into dark places.
Some time ago, I met a stunning young woman in England. My interaction with her began when I had the sweet pleasure of visiting her in her home while my husband was attending other meetings. Prior to the visit, I collaborated with a group of local sister Church leaders to strategize an itinerary for my afternoon of visiting. Those devoted sisters settled on a schedule that accommodated many, but not all, of their preferences.
We spent our flrst few hours together in the homes of elderly sisters. Those full-of -light women were dependably grateful and welcoming. I was honored and blessed to have met them. We returned to the church and found one Young Women president still lingering in the foyer. She clearly had something on her mind. I engaged her in conversation to learn that she had hoped we might visit a young woman who belonged to her ward, but that girl hadn’t made it on our list. Since we had returned earlier than we had expected, there was still some time before we were scheduled to return to another meeting with our husbands. She hoped that perhaps we could still sneak in one more visit.
The sisters put their heads together and concluded that there simply wasn’t enough time to drive across town to that girl’s home and be back in time to rejoin our husbands. But that Young Women president’s persistence was compelling. I trusted her insistent inspiration. To her credit, she proposed a creative plan. She suggested that immediately after the stake conference we were scheduled to attend the following morning, she would drive me across town to that girl’s home, then she would take me promptly to the airport to meet my husband for our flight to the U.S. The timing sounded tight but possible. I agreed.
The following morning, that inspired Young Women president was waiting for me in the back of the chapel when the stake conference meeting ended. We hurried to her car and headed across town to visit Liliana. As we drove, she told me that Liliana was a seventeen-year-old young woman who had just suffered a miscarriage after an unintended pregnancy. That girl was reeling from the effects of the life quake she had just experienced and was struggling to find a way forward.
When we arrived at the neat series of row houses we were seeking, we knocked on the appointed door. Liliana and her parents immediately answered. They were clearly expecting us. We introduced ourselves to each other, then those attentive, concerned parents excused themselves to allow us time alone. I suspect they had said and done everything they knew to say or do, and they were hoping and praying that we might offer something meaningful to their efforts to help their daughter.
Our time was short. We didn’t engage in much chatter, except to learn that Liliana and her parents originated from a country that my husband and I had lived in for an extended period of time. That detail provided an unexpected connection that advanced the cause of our intimacy immediately.
Liliana was obviously confused and struggling as she looked for the light she so desperately needed to take steps forward. She was lost to the darkness that made her way feel frightening and unclear. It occurred to me to pull out of the messy moment and ask her: “If you had all your dreams come true, where would you be in ten years?” That amount of time seemed to sound to her close enough that she could imagine it, but far enough that it didn’t need to be inevitably implicated profoundly by her current dark circumstances. She responded quickly. “I would probably be married – in the temple – and maybe even have a baby.” A glimmer of light flickered in her moist eyes.
I ventured farther. “What about in three years? What would you be doing?” Again, she answered with barely a pause. “I would be in college. I have always planned on getting a college degree.”
Our time was nearly up, so I pressed forward. “So, if you are going to achieve those dreams, where and how do you see yourself next month?” That question caused her to hesitate a moment, but only a moment. She took a deep breath and bravely said, “I need to break up with my boyfriend and return to church. That sounds hard, but I think it’s the way to where I want to go and who I want to be.”
We embraced that brave girl with enormous affection, then hurried off to barely make my flight back to the U.S. I had felt the illumination of the Spirit in that holy place. I had seen the beginning of a promising light return to Liliana’s eyes.
Rarely do I know the effects of the home visits I have had the privilege of making, or even if there are any. But on this blessed occasion, I did. Five years later, I received a message in my inbox from someone named Liliana. I knew immediately who that was. I wouldn’t and couldn’t forget her. In a brief message, the light of which fairly jumped off the page, Liliana told me that she had done as she had committed all those years ago. Four years later, she met a young North American serviceman in her ward in London. They had fallen in love. Attached to the message was a snapshot of her radiant face adjacent a handsome fellow in uniform at her side, his face likewise radiant. She was dressed in long and lavish white taffeta – an exquisite wedding gown. She told me that he had joined the Church just before their marriage and they were on their way to the temple. The light had returned and was burning brightly for Liliana. It had felt to her that it had been inevitably extinguished forever, but the perfect Father of us all is loving and good, and His Son is indeed mighty to save. Liliana’s future was indeed bright. She had seen the light, chosen the light, and become light.
With our fingers persistently keeping that dimmer switch in the fully up position and our determination firmly fixed on choosing and being light, we “press forward with a perfect brightness of hope.” Let there (and us) be light!
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