We were driving along the Gulf Coast of Alabama as I was scrolling through my phone, looking for interesting places to stop along the way. That’s when I saw it - there was a lighthouse in nearby Biloxi, Mississippi. And I knew I wanted to see it.
I’ve always had a thing for lighthouses. There’s something about their quiet strength that draws me in; steady, unshaken, standing firm through storms, doing their job without applause. They’re oftentimes quite plain, not showy or ornate. Yet despite their simplicity, to me they seem majestic. And that’s what I love - they are understated yet incredibly impactful.
What moves me even more is that they’ll never know their full impact. A ship may catch a glimpse of their beam on the darkest night, correct its course, and sail safely to harbor, and the lighthouse may not be any the wiser. No acknowledgment, no applause, no moment of recognition. Just the steady pulse of light, night after night, saving lives it will never meet. That’s a kind of greatness - to keep shining, to keep guiding, simply because that’s what you were built to do.
So I excitedly entered the location into our GPS: fifty minutes away. Sunset was in forty-five. It was going to be close.
As we drove, the sky began to shift, that fleeting hour when the light softens and the clouds turn beautiful shades of soft pink and purple. We had a smooth, if a little rushed, drive and pulled in at the perfect time, literally as the sun began to drop toward the horizon. And there it was - the old Biloxi Lighthouse, tall and white, standing on the edge of the water, holding its ground as the sun began to dip.
Next to it stood a small plaque noting that this lighthouse is the only active one in Mississippi to have survived the devastating hurricanes of 1906, 1947, 1969, and 2005. I stood there for a moment taking that in - the storms it had faced, the years it had endured, and how it still kept shining, quietly doing its job.
I watched as two kinds of light met on the horizon. One was the sun - Hashem/G-d’s light - spilling warmth and beauty across the sky. The other was the beam of the lighthouse - human light, built to guide, to protect, to help others find their way home.
It struck me how much that mirrors life itself. Hashem/Gd fills the world with light, wisdom, clarity, compassion - and then it’s up to us to direct it. The sunset is His gift. The lighthouse is our response.
There have been moments when I’ve needed that beam - when I was lost in fog, grateful for someone else’s quiet steadiness. And other times when I’ve had to be the lighthouse - standing firm, shining for someone else who needed direction.
Eventually, the sun slipped below the water and the lighthouse beam took over. It wasn’t that G-d’s light stopped - His light never fades - but it reminded me that we’re meant to reflect it. The world can momentarily grow darker, but our task is to keep shining, to carry His light forward in the way we live, speak, and care for others.
We can’t always calm the waves or change the tide. But we can be steady. We can be kind. We can be lightkeepers — taking the glow G-d gives us and using it to help someone else find home.