OUR GUIDING LIGHT: Wisdom from the Lighthouse Keeper’s Daughter
As the daughter of a Great Lakes lighthouse keeper in the early 1900s, my mother, Vivian, witnessed her father’s dedication to keeping people safe. From his sailing days, he knew the importance of the lights, the foghorn, and the radio beacons. In Vivian’s journal, she wrote, During a terrible ice storm, I saw my father hanging over one hundred feet in the air, outside the lantern room window. He had tied a rope around his waist and secured it to the outside rail of the lighthouse so he could scrape ice from the windows. There was a sacred trust between mariners and the lighthouse keepers who guided them to safety. Dad was worried about the boats weathering this storm, as he knew they needed his light to navigate.
The light the keepers faithfully cared for offered hope to those lost in the fog. It could always be counted on. Seemingly a spiritual messenger, the lighthouse beams stretch beyond the physical, guiding not only ships but souls. Reminders that even in exile, we are never alone. A lighthouse doesn’t calm the storm. It simply reminds you where the shore is and says, You are being cared for and watched over. From her parents and the other lighthouse keepers they knew, Vivian learned some of the most valuable lessons of her life: honesty and service to others. As she navigated her life, living through the Great Depression and World War II, standing up to social injustice, and raising eight children, she surrendered to the divine and allowed herself to be watched over. In turn, she was able to be a steady beacon of light and hope for those who encountered life storms.
Yet somehow, her profound wisdom was hidden in plain sight. It would take an awakening moment at her funeral, followed by several miracles, before I began searching for her way of being in the world. As I searched for clues, I was taken back to 1920. My grandpa, Charles A. Linsmeier, joined the U.S. Lighthouse Service. Assigned to the isolated North Manitou Island Lighthouse in the northern part of Lake Michigan, he boarded a car ferry with his wife to reach the island. This trip, which normally took four hours, took seventeen days because the boat became stuck in the ice. Life on the island taught resilience. When Grandpa wasn’t on watch or maintaining the light, he painted the lantern room, tower, and barn, and whitewashed the oil house. The keepers and their families raised chickens, planted corn and potatoes, picked blackberries, and hunted foxes.
Shortly after being assigned to the Sheboygan Harbor Lighthouse, Vivian’s mother tragically drowned. At age nine, she assumed the duties of cooking and caring for her younger brother. As a family, they did their best to move forward. In her journal, Vivian wrote, Each night the lighthouse keepers and their families would gather together in their quarters. The men would keep us spellbound with stories of their sailing and lighthouse days. We witnessed responsibility and duty each day, and we were taught good values to live by for the rest of our lives.
Although she experienced significant trauma during her childhood, Vivian chose to rise above her circumstances. As I considered the choices my mother made and the lessons she taught her children, I realized she had developed an inner posture of trust and surrendering to the divine, which allowed her to live calmly in the present, centered in life’s flow. As she watched for little miracles each day, signs others may view as coincidences, she found divine comfort and reassurance. With God as her guiding light, she lived her life in service of others.
In the end, she left a legacy as large as the Great Lakes and a roadmap for anyone to follow. Get your copy of Our Guiding Light today and discover a more peaceful and purposeful life, where doors easily open and opportunities present themselves.
