The Wire That Holds the Light

Sisters and Brothers,

I've been trying to find a replacement part for an old Italian floor lamp. It's an Artemide Tolomeo Micro, a rather clever piece of engineering with adjustable arms, springs, and thin steel cables.

The problem isn't the lightbulb. It's a little silver support wire.

Not much to look at. Probably the least impressive part of the entire lamp.

But without that wire doing its job, the arm can't hold its position properly. All that thoughtful Italian engineering, and one little piece of metal throws the whole thing out of balance.

I stood there thinking about it.

And then I realized something uncomfortable.

I've been feeling a little like that lamp lately.

When Life Loses Its Tension

I've worn a lot of hats in my life. Teacher, builder, project manager, business owner, and plenty of others. I've worked hard, started over, made some good decisions, and made a few I wouldn't recommend repeating.

And here I am, at this stage of life, searching for work again.

Applications go out. The inbox stays quiet. Bills arrive with impressive punctuality.

Some mornings I have a dozen ideas about what I should do next. Other mornings, I'm not entirely sure what I have to offer anymore.

That's a strange place for a man who's spent most of his life solving problems for other people.

I know how to organize a construction project, manage a crisis, and make something useful out of a difficult situation.

But when the project is your own life, suddenly you're standing there without a decent set of instructions.

And sometimes you start wondering whether the problem is bigger than one broken wire.

Maybe the whole thing is worn out.

A Message From 1976

I found myself returning to a General Conference address given fifty years ago.

In October 1976, Elder Neal A. Maxwell delivered a talk titled Notwithstanding My Weakness.

He wasn't speaking to people who refused to try. He was speaking to those who were trying hard and still felt inadequate.

That distinction matters.

Elder Maxwell explained that we can become terribly unfair judges of ourselves, overlooking our progress while constantly examining our shortcomings.

Then he offered a principle I've been thinking about:

"It is direction first, then velocity!"

Well, that's wonderful counsel, Elder Maxwell.

But what if I need velocity right now?

What if I'm tired of applying, waiting, starting over, and wondering whether another door will ever open?

What if I know I have something to contribute, but nobody seems particularly interested in giving me the opportunity?

I don't have a neat answer.

But I think I'm beginning to understand the difference between moving forward and demanding that life move forward on my schedule.

I've spent an awful lot of energy measuring how fast I'm getting somewhere.

Perhaps I ought to pay more attention to whether I'm still pointed toward the right things.

What Have I Been Asking to Hold Me Up?

Here's what occurred to me about that lamp.

The little steel cable doesn't produce the light.

It supports the structure that allows the light to be useful.

And perhaps I've been asking things in my life to support more weight than they were ever meant to carry.

A job title.

A paycheck.

A successful business.

The approval of other people.

All important in their own ways. Certainly a paycheck is important when the bills are due.

But none of those things was designed to carry the entire weight of my identity.

Somewhere along the way, it's easy to forget that our worth was established long before anybody offered us employment.

The Savior didn't ask Peter for a résumé before calling him to follow.

And when Peter began sinking beneath the waves, Jesus didn't stand on the water explaining everything Peter had done wrong.

Matthew 14:31 tells us:

"And immediately Jesus stretched forth his hand, and caught him."

Immediately.

I've been thinking about that word.

Sometimes faith isn't the confidence that everything is about to work out.

Sometimes it's the willingness to reach for that hand when you no longer trust your own footing.

Repairing What's Broken

I still need that little steel cable.

And I still need work.

Neither problem has magically disappeared because I've found a spiritual metaphor in an Italian floor lamp.

I'm not going to pretend that financial uncertainty is pleasant or that every closed door is secretly a blessing. Sometimes a closed door is just a closed door, and sometimes you need to knock on another one.

But perhaps there's something valuable in recognizing that a damaged support doesn't mean the entire structure has lost its purpose.

I'm not finished because I'm unemployed.

I'm not useless because I'm uncertain.

And I'm not the sum of every mistake, disappointment, or unfinished project behind me.

Elder Maxwell's counsel reminds me that spiritual progress isn't measured the way the world measures professional success.

God sees the direction of a heart.

He sees effort that doesn't appear on a résumé.

He sees the man who gets up again, even when yesterday produced absolutely nothing worth celebrating.

And through Jesus Christ, He offers strength that doesn't depend on a job title or bank balance.

The Light Is Still There

I haven't figured everything out.

Not even close.

But I am beginning to appreciate that life doesn't always need a complete rebuild.

Sometimes it needs a small repair. A changed perspective. An honest prayer. A willingness to accept help. Another attempt.

And sometimes it needs us to stop treating ourselves as defective simply because we're struggling to hold everything together.

Tomorrow I'll keep looking for work. I'll make the calls, send the applications, and do what I can.

And I'll keep looking for that replacement cable.

Because I'd like to see that lamp standing properly again.

I'd like to see myself standing a little straighter, too.

I believe Jesus Christ knows how to restore things that seem beyond our ability to repair.

More importantly, I believe He knows the difference between something that is broken and someone who is simply carrying too much.

Maybe that's what I needed to remember.

The wire may have failed. The light hasn't lost its purpose.

And neither have I.

In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Inspired by Elder Neal A. Maxwell, “Notwithstanding My Weakness,” October 1976 General Conference.

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