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This work by Loyd Boldman is displayed with permission from the author. |
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Loyd Boldman |
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SWITCH: a true story
The bathroom light switch has been in the “on” position for six weeks now. The vertical fluorescent bulb to the left of the medicine cabinet gave out, and last week the right-hand bulb followed the first’s example.
The house, either “vintage” or “dilapidated,” depending on your carpentry skills, was built in the 1920s. The expedition for a bulb able to fit the odd-length, antique fixtures nearly drove us to crazytown after the first one had blown, and the thought of finding two such bulbs was beyond the pale. So the family’s bathroom activities have been rescheduled to accommodate natural light, the sole exception being the occasional nocturnal necessity, and then a flashlight is called into service.
Mary, our five-year-old, must have noticed my forlorn expression as I perched on the rim of the tub, puzzling over the dilemma.
“Daddy,” she said, “why don’t we pray for it?” She grabbed my hand before I had a minute to think of a good excuse why not. I mentally flipped through a dozen or so doctrinally sound reasons why God doesn’t instantly answer prayer, when Mary began hers: “Jesus, please help the light come on, Amen.”
We sat here with our hands folded together, and as twilight slipped into a soft blue night, the room suddenly blinked to life with light. |