It struck me again this week that, although I live in a duplex and have an upstairs neighbor, not once has she changed our porch light. Ever. She uses it of course. She turns it on and off. But when my neighbor notices (as she must) that the light bulb over the front door has burned out, she simply waits for me to change it.

She is not physically challenged in any way. She’s probably a decade younger than me. She waters her plants. Feeds her pets. Even feeds the stray cat in our neighborhood that mistakenly thinks its address is the same as mine. But she doesn’t do porch lights.

I know, because I’ve tried to wait her out.

The longest I’ve gone is a week – and it’s pointless, really. Because all that happens is I fumble in the dark for my keys when I come home late, and get madder and madder as each day goes by that I have to be the one to do the chore.

It’s not the money. Light bulbs, relatively speaking, are cheap. It’s the principle of the thing. (At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.) Still, when the light burns out and it becomes clear that once again she has no intention of changing the bulb, I do it.

I climb up on a footstool underneath the porch awning, coax the crooked pin out of the bottom of the light fixture and ease it open. Flakes of stuff that I’m certain were once flying insects fall into my upturned face, and I reach my hand in (past more flakes) to unscrew the burned out bulb. Then I place it between my knees or in the pocket of my jeans, remove the new bulb from another pocket, and finish the chore.

All told it probably takes less than two minutes. So why does it irritate me every time I do it?

Because I don’t think it should always be my job. Because I’m tired of doing it. Because I think she should change at least every third or fourth bulb. And because every time I feel indignant pride rising up in me about something as silly as a light bulb, I see how far I am from where I really want to be:

Don’t push your way to the front; don’t sweet talk your way to the top. Put yourself aside, and help others get ahead. Don’t be obsessed with getting your own advantage. Forget yourselves long enough to lend a helping hand. Think of yourselves the way Christ Jesus thought of himself. He had equal status with God but didn’t think so much of himself that he had to cling to the advantages of that status no matter what. When he came…he took on the status of a slave…he didn’t claim special privileges. Instead, he lived a selfless, obedient life, and then died a selfless, obedient death. (Philippians 2:3-5, 8, The Message)

It’s time again to change the front porch light bulb. I’ve waited more than long enough.

© Leigh McLeroy 2005