A Lighthouse to Call Home
If you’ve ever stood on the shores of the Great Lakes, you’ve likely noticed them: those slim, solitary creatures standing guard along the peninsulas and rocky coves. Clad in weathered red or gray paint, these lighthouses rise like castle towers from the sand. Historically, their massive lanterns offered more than just light; they provided comfort to the weary, guidance to the lost, and a literal lifeline to those in desperate need.
Today, they are often seen as curiosities—stops on a summer vacation. We scamper up circular stairways, peer through giant Fresnel lenses, and listen to tour guides recount tales of fateful storms and shipwrecks. Yet, even as tourists, we can feel the gravity of the place. Being a lighthouse keeper wasn't a reclusive hermitage; it was a life of vigilance. They were first responders in an era of isolation, waiting patiently through the silence until the moment they were needed most.
My grandmother, Betty, shared that same spirit of vigilance. Her lifelong dream was to be a lighthouse keeper. In her later years, I think she imagined a peaceful, decommissioned tower where she could shine a symbolic light to inspire people living in darkness. She also craved a private sanctuary for her own soul. She once showed me a Thomas Kinkade painting that captured her dream perfectly: a sturdy tower, a cozy caretaker’s cottage, and a playful golden lab running through a perfectly tended garden.
That dream remained a dream as long as I can recall. Her lighthouse never materialized in brick and mortar. She never lived next to her tower on Lake Michigan, but she found a way to carry its light with her. We all have that lighthouse to call home within us—a dream or a place that keeps us grounded when the waves get high. May grandma Betty’s spirit always keep that soul-satisfying light close, and may it continue to shine across the dark waters to inspire us today.
