Friends and Light Repairs, #2
(Photo: MBH* in Luminescent Bike Jacket)

Deep questions in the Deep South hound us. Why am I still here? What do I do when I grow up here? And the ever-ready question, “Why hold this flashlight?”

That latter query may have bugged MBH, *My Beloved Husband deep in the heart of Texas, far from our home. But his company had a peach of a project: to test, analyze, and help maintain machines that taught pilots to fly as smartly as Captain Sullenberger, hero on the Hudson, former Air Force pilot. The company’s boss asked employees to volunteer for multi-week trips over the next few months.

MBH had to go. I pouted. He told me again it was better to be employed anywhere, then unemployed elsewhere.

Though he bristled when his new boss ordered him company business cards with the title “Dr.” and his nickname instead of his formal name. I watched MBH receive his Structural Engineer PhD. Wryly my husband claims “PhD” stands for, “Piled higher and deeper.” Yet I knew the grades behind his degreed distinction, how many colleagues appreciated his analytical prowess at work.

On the initial work trip MBH and the team worked 12-hour days, six day-weeks, in cramped, dark spaces of a chilly hangar. There were days his analysis was needed. Most days the mechanics and master technicians took over.

Meanwhile, my beloved chauffeured, assisted, and held a flashlight.

Once MBH held a flashlight hours at many areas. Then on a singular Thursday he held it one long hour at a cockpit GBH (G’s beloved husband) wired. Both men were sweat tired and longing for home. In the flashlight beams, one man noticed how pale the other’s face looked, especially when he asked for the car keys so he could sit and rest.

The two walked to the car. One returned to work, pausing to share his concerns with the boss. After awhile the two went to talk with the rested, yet aching man, the boss convincing him to ride over to the medical clinic.

There my beloved called. He asked for prayer as a gurney rolled out to an ambulance. Hours later one team member watched a surgeon insert a stent into an artery to end heart attack. Hours after that, the doctor told the victim, “Your colleagues probably saved your life.”

MBH and GBH were more than colleagues. GBH and his wife became our friends at the Company Christmas party. Chums in Christ are cool. They aren't ashamed to hold hands in public prayer or hold a flashlight to help them see.

You wouldn’t be ashamed to shine a light for a friend in the dark, would you? As my beloved learned, a little light can save a friend’s life in a big way.

Hide it under a bushel, No! I'm gonna let it shine...