Sabbath Devotional: The Weight of Light

I stood on my oak parquet 1980s hand-me-down kitchen table and reached for the ceiling. Beside me sat two barstools and stacks of books, with an 8-light chandelier on top. In my memory my kids are in bed, but since I wasn’t working in the dark, they probably watched TV. Our family was new to rural Quincy, Washington and a second winter was closing in. The first winter had been grueling — a toddler and a 6-month-old, in a rented farmhouse far from friends and family. We’d left our townhome in Portland’s suburbs, with close friends and a park a five-minute walk away. I struggled with the isolation, but mostly I struggled with the oppressive dark. We eventually purchased our first home — a ten-mile drive from town — and our neighbors became coyotes that yipped and howled at sunset, field mice that caused near constant trouble, and multiple barn cats that helped catch mice. Each day, the sun set an hour earlier than my Idaho hometown and rose 45 minutes later. I hungered for more light.

The kitchen, where I spent much of my days cleaning up after my two boys, was dim. Our small formal dining room, which we used as an office, had the most light. With toddlers, I had little time to spend in an office. I decided to swap the light fixtures but didn’t know how. It was 2004 and DIY information wasn’t yet at our fingertips. One day at the thrift store, I discovered a book called Handy Ma’am by Beverly DeJulio with her instructions for wiring a light fixture. I soon found myself standing on the table stretching wires from the chandelier to wires that hung out of the ceiling. I was filled with hope and trepidation. I studied the instructions, connected the wires, attached the light — did I do it right? I turned on the breaker, crossed my fingers and held my breath. When I flipped the switch — my kitchen filled with light. 

Let there be light! 

I now live in my home state of Idaho and still hunger for light — especially in winter. My house of toddlers has been replaced by a single, starving teenager. Last June, we sent our third son on a mission. As the holidays approached, he claimed he needed and wanted nothing for Christmas. I remembered the previous fall when he was a lonely, homesick, hungry college wrestler in Virginia. He couldn’t come home until Christmas, and I couldn’t send him comfort foods without messing up his strict training regimen. I stumbled upon a package of lightbulb window clings at the grocery store — enough for a countdown. I wrote messages of light and hope on the back of each and mailed them with instructions to hang one in his dorm window each day until he came home. He never hung them up but carried a new one in his pocket each day — a small piece of light and hope. It helped him endure. 

Let there be light. 

Since packages to Peru are expensive and he claimed to want nothing, I decided to send light again. I couldn’t find any window clings, so I drew my own light bulbs and stapled them into a garland for his desk. I scoured the scriptures for references to light and laughed when the search function suggested Matthew 11:30: "For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light." “Wrong kind of light,” I thought. But the verse lingered. I argued internally: Christ is the light of the world; truth is light; light is life. The absence of light is a burden. Light is not a burden. 

It was then the spirit began to teach me. I didn’t think light weighed anything. I researched. Physics proves that a container filled with light weighs more than a container empty of light. It’s a miniscule difference, but it changed my perspective. Light is what the Lord asks us to carry. Sometimes the light of Christ can feel like a burden. It is not always popular to be like Christ.

Truth shines light on heavy problems created by lies and darkness. My burden is light. Light is what the Lord has asked me to yoke myself to and carry with him. Can a burden be a gift that strengthens us? Light is the responsibility and weight and privilege we carry as servants of Christ. Light, like truth, frees us from darkness. Our burdens are made of light and made light through The Light and Lamb, Jesus Christ, who helps us carry them. 

The garland of light hangs above my son’s bed in his bubble gum pink bedroom in Peru. I listen each Monday as he shares his missionary struggles — the no-shows and the rejection. I see him growing. He has taken Christ’s name upon him and carries the Light of the World to everyone he meets. There is light in his countenance.

Let there be light! 

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Image: The Light of the World by  William Holman Hunt via Wikimedia Commons

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Holly Papa is the assistant Idaho state director at Mormon Women for Ethical Government.