The Flashlight

The Book of Ron · 14 of 48 · 3 minute read

One night, Dad got home. I think I was 11 or 12 years old. He was restless, I could tell. Even though he had to get up and go to work the next day, he was not ready to go to bed. He decided we were going to go nail shingles on the barn roof.

He and I carried a couple bundles of shingles up on the roof. It was just going to be thirty minutes. My job was to hold the flashlight while he nailed the shingles on. The roof was about ten feet off the ground at its lowest point. The 4:12 pitch wasn’t really steep — just the most effective, economical way to build a barn.

It was probably about 1:30 or 2:00 in the morning. We had been at it for 25 or 30 minutes, and I started to become bored. I knew my job was to stay focused. Each hand movement that he had, the flashlight had to be there before he did. There was no way in the world that he would be able to see the nail head if I didn’t have the proper light shining on it as he hammered the nails in.

Reach for a shingle? I had to move the light to the shingle bundle so he could grab the tab appropriately, pull it into place, place it, nail, continue this methodical system — for as long as necessary.

Somewhere along the line, I became distracted. It was a beautiful, crisp, clean night. The stars were out, quiet, nothing around, and I found myself looking up at the stars, silently praying — though I wasn’t even sure what I was praying for. At that point, my focus was no longer on the flashlight.

I heard Dad cuss loudly. He had hit his finger with the hammer. He jumped up and backhanded me. I rolled off the roof. He climbed down the ladder and continued to physically explain that I had failed in my mission. He walked inside, leaving me laying in the mud in the barnyard.

Missions are things we are taught. Teaching is the principle that is difficult sometimes. I have gone through life often wanting employees to understand that simple task — holding the flashlight where it’s needed, investing in the job effectively enough that you understand what is trying to be accomplished, moving the flashlight to where the focus needs to be at that moment, not just standing there holding it waist-high, just enduring, doing what is “necessary.”

That is not the job. The job is to invest, to focus, to intently study what needs to be done. It is a trait that I find most people have a hard time comprehending.

This story is not about a flashlight. It’s about understanding who you’re helping, what their needs are, what their emotions are, and what you must do to invest in them. It’s about not losing focus, not becoming distracted, and taking seriously the responsibility of attention, care, and action.

Again, I am never justifying my father’s behavior in this situation, period. But the lessons he taught me were lessons that don’t leave me easily. Discipline is a necessary part of life. How we express that discipline is what needs to be guarded cautiously, with great grace and humility, and placing ourselves in their shoes.

There is a companion workbook for this story. Open the workbook (PDF).