The Porch Light That Never Goes Out

In 2018, a story circulated about Willa Mae Johnson of Tupelo, Mississippi, who kept her porch light burning every single night for eleven years. Her grandson Marcus had enlisted in the Marines and deployed overseas. Before he left, she told him, "When you come home, the light will be on. You just come right in."

Neighbors watched that bulb glow through ice storms, humid summers, and power outages — Willa Mae had rigged it to a backup battery. Some gently suggested she was wasting electricity. She would shake her head and say, "He told me he's coming back. That's enough."

When Marcus finally returned — decorated, weathered, older — he said the first thing he saw driving down Elm Street at 2 a.m. was that golden glow. He didn't knock. He walked right in. She was asleep in her chair by the door, as if she'd been waiting all along.

This is the posture of Revelation 22. Jesus, the bright Morning Star, declares three times: "I am coming soon." And the Spirit and the Bride respond not with anxiety but with invitation — "Come!" The water of life is offered freely to anyone who thirsts. No credentials required. No knocking necessary.

The Almighty has left the light on. The door is open. The invitation stands for whoever will come. And like Willa Mae, the Church keeps watch — not in dread, but in the steady, joyful confidence of someone who has heard the promise and believes it: "Surely I am coming soon." Amen. Come, Lord Jesus.