How Thomas Edison ruined my life.

       From the time that I could comprehend the idea of family relation, I understood that I had the priveledge of being related to the infamous inventor, Sir Thomas Alva Edison.

 If I close my eyes and focus my ears, I can still hear my grandmother Susan boasting to me from behind the yellowed pages of our Family Genealogy. “You know, Jasmine , Thomas Edison is your Uncle. By blood, not just marriage"

She would explain that because we were related by blood and not just marriage,  I was destined to be a genius, or at the very least,  a bright shining light.  

I have a distinct memory of  the first failure I experienced as an inventor, the day that I realized that Thomas Edison ruined my life.

      I had the simple assignment of turning a potato into an energy producing battery. To an aspiring eight year old inventor, this was just about the coolest thing since push-pops. I remembered my Uncle Thomas and worked extra hard to make this small light bulb turn on.  After all, I was destined to be a genius, it was in my blood.

         It is interesting to me how clearly I can recall holding that potato in my hand, amazed by the fact that this,  thing which had come out from the ground covered in dirt, would harvest and produce energy. Light from dirt. I remember smelling the dirt and wrinkling my nose.

(I had no idea that I would one day become this potato.)

      I secured the probes and twisted the wires around my tiny light-bulb, awaiting the excitement of  first light. I would have made my uncle proud.

 But it would’t turn on.

      I watched as my classmates cheered and rushed to the teacher’s desk, beaming with pride. I tried to twist the wires tightly and went back to my instructions, but nothing. I had done everything right, it just wasn’t working.

 I slowly walked to my teacher’s desk,  hot tears welling in my eyes. “It’s broken! It’s broken!” ( I was a bit dramatic as a child.)

She took my invention into her hands and made some adjustments, frowning. “Oh Jasmine, I’m sorry. It must be your bulb.”“ You did do it right though, so just imagine that it is working”  I returned to my desk with my broken bulb and sat quietly, looking out over the classroom of small, bright lights. Thanks uncle Thomas. Thanks a lot.

     From that day on, I was no longer proud of my relation to Thomas Alva Edison.

 Not shortly after this experience, the Public Broadcasting Station taught me the truth about good old uncle Thomas. The truth about his failures, his fraud.  

In my understanding of the PBS special, Thomas Edison did not even invent the light bulb. He merely perfected it, taking note of other’s failure.

I grew to hate this relative of mine.

And more importantly, I grew to despise the light bulb.

     The idea of electricity never did make any sense to me. As a child,  I absolutely hated waking up when the sun was still down.

 The bright light of a false morning startled my mind to wake, it made no sense that my house should be fully illuminated.

 The warm rays of Saturday morning sun coaxed me out of bed, in love, and that felt much nicer than the flip-switch GOODMORNING! of my mother.

       I hated watching my mother rush to collect her things and leave the house for work before the sun could greet her at the door.

I hated the chaos of unpaid electricity bills.

      But I did always love candle light.

Whenever the electricity was turned off, my family came together.

It was the only time that we looked like a real family. In the dark.

Illuminated only by the light of our candle, huddled together over a game of scrabble.

  This is how I wish to remember my childhood. Things looked much better in the dark.

       So basically, artificial light ruined my life. And you may not know this, but it ruined yours as well.

Artificial light became the spark of the Industrial Revolution. No longer limited by the natural pattern of day and night, we became slaves to the freedom of work.

       I am, at this current moment, sitting in a classroom at nine-thirty at night, under awful head-ache producing flourecesnts.

Granted, I appreciate my education, but is it so wrong to think that right now, my body would benefit more from sleep? 

1 John says that God is light.

God is light, not electricity. God is light, not a light-bulb. 

God is not contained.

God is not some “Aha!" moment that occurs above our heads. The sort of light that God is compared to in the Gospels far surpasses any man produced containment of energy.

     This sort of light is mysterious, uncontrollable, constant. Absolutely unshakeable.

You can’t turn this kind of light off with a switch. You can’t shove it in a light bulb or keep it in your pocket. This kind of light, this kind of life, can better be compared to the sun.

The sun can easily be called by any human, atheist or protestant, a source of life.

Constant, despite the revolution of our inconsistent planet.

Our vision of night, our experience of the dark does not discount the fact that the sun stays fixed at the center of our galaxy.

The sun is massive, inconceivable.

      You cannot stand in the presence of the sun. You cannot capture it in a photograph, nor gaze at it from millions of miles away.

You tried as a child and realized that this, this is the blinding light. 

The sun whispers in speckled reflections of moving water and catches dust like glitter from the window sill.

We gasp at the beauty of light and color as it filters through forest leaves, a thousand shades of green.  We cannot contain this light. We cannot recreate this source of life. We are in awe of this energy.

And yet, even the sun one day will die.

Creator’s Light is everlasting, inconceivable.

I’m still in class and my redvines are all gone. So naturally, I am brought back to the Gospel.

"You are the light of the world" This reference refers not to a light-bulb but to a candle light.

Natural light. A city on a hill in 30 A.D. was not powered by PG & E. 

     We were never called to be flashlights. We were never called flood-lights. We are not even called to be light-freaking-houses like we see in our very own church logo’s.

We are the candlelight, illuminating a way in the dark night. 

Collectively, we represent the light of our Creator. But we ourselves, we are not the sun. 

We are to be a soft, gentle, powerful light in the dark. Do you think a light, because it is soft does not overpower the darkness? Light always, always, always penetrates darkness. Do you think a blind man after not seeing his entire life is ready to get his pupils dilated by your flood light of doom? Does it feel good when somebody shines a flash light in your sleeping eyes?

Can you, yourself stare into the sun? 

     We are not called to be fluorescent, head-ache producing lights.

We are to reflect the light of our father- the mysterious, brilliant, pure light. We are pools of water, dancing, reflecting glimpses of his Glory. 

     We are the bright forest leaves, turned transparent by the power of His golden, outstretched arms. We are the sweet, welcoming sun that wakes a child on Saturday morning.

We are the candle lights that families get out when all has gone dark, we illuminate life in a dead world.

     So, are you turning on your light bulb and calling it Holy,  or are you truly relying on the True source of light?

One last thought, Photosynthesis. Just saying.

Going back to Thomas Edison, sure, it’s neat that he is my uncle. But, you know what? I would much rather boast of my relation to the Creator of real light. 

And that is how Thomas Edison ruined my life.