I’m sitting at my workbench in the spare bedroom, eyeing the stack of papers that’s in front of me. I’ve been procrastinating on writing this report all winter break. I am terrified that within this stack of papers is a dissertation that may have rendered my research redundant. What’s worse, this work was published in 2017, around the time when I was starting my PhD project, giving me time to pivot to something more “novel”.
How have I not read this research before? I am normally so good at staying on top of the literature in this field. It’s not hard. It’s a very niche field with only a handful of research groups across the country. But somehow, in my reading, I’ve missed this particular study with a title that sounds terrifyingly close to my research project.
Every grad student fears that their research will get scooped. I would guess that a majority of us are driven by fear of this very thing. It’s often the thing that keeps us in the lab all hours of the night, and when we aren’t in the lab it’s the mental equivalent of a song stuck in your head, except it’s less catchy and more anxiety-inducing.
This is why I find myself at my bench, on the day before my progress report is due, scared to start reading the stack of research papers in front of me. I finally screw up the courage to begin reading when the light fixture just above my bench starts flickering. I have forgotten that in the spare room that I use as my office, there is a broken light fixture. Apparently whoever installed the electrical in our house messed up and now the light flashes unexpectedly from time to time. It’s not consistent. It happens infrequently enough for me not to bother trying to fix it. But today of all days it starts flashing. Slowly and inconsistently.
I can’t understand Morse code, but If I could I am sure it is blinking “s-u-c-k-e-r” to me over and over. It’s already an emotionally charged situation, and this minor inconvenience puts me over the edge. It’s the millionth paper cut that broke the camel’s back (or however the saying goes).
I stand up and walk over to the light switch, and I pray: “God, if you are there, and if you can hear our small prayers, please make this light start flashing. I would really like to not get distracted when I am already freaking out.”
In my mind, I am thinking about a story that my Grandma told where she was attacked by a pack of dogs who ran away after she prayed to God for help. If what my pastor friend tells me about God is true, surely “…if faith can move mountains” (Matthew 17:20), then it can stop a lightbulb from flickering.
Like any good IT professional, I try turning it off and on again. When in doubt, reboot. When I turn the light back on the flashing is gone. There is a God and he watches the British sitcom “The IT Crowd”.
Triumphant, I sit back down at the bench and take a deep breath. I am finally ready to dive into the stack of papers. After all, I have God on my side. I get through about a sentence when the light starts flashing “S-U-C-K-E-R”. This time even more rapidly. I have never seen this light flicker so often.
I tell you at this moment, the only thing keeping me from throwing this economy folding table through the window is that I make five dollars an hour as a grad student, and I can’t afford to pay to fix this rental.
But before I lose it completely, a thought enters my head “God, what do you want me to know?” Then I think to myself “What if the flashing light is actually trying to get my attention? What if God is purposely distracting me?” I flip to the next chapter and begin to scan my finger from section to section, using the light like a holy stud finder, identifying the sections that are irrelevant or would only serve to distract me. In short order, I have worked my way through the stacks of scientific literature, identified that my research has (thankfully) not been scooped, and I even have some insights for future experiments to run.
Here’s the thing: I didn’t even think to ask God for help with my literature review. All I wanted was for my light to stop flashing so I could finish the work without distraction. Even my small prayers weren’t big enough.
I used to think that God was more like a vending machine and that our prayers were transactional. I pray to you for X, God either gives it to you, or He wedges it between the Skittles and the glass on the way down.
Now I think that this God is inviting us into a different kind of spirituality, one that is not transactional. Maybe He wants to be part of the small stuff too. It’s like He’s saying, “Hey, let’s hang out. We can read these papers together and I’ll help you.” I’m still working my way up to moving mountains, but for now, I am happy to work with flickering lights.
Leave a Reply