Although they didn't get what they wanted right away, it seemed to strengthen the hearts of those who believed. Then Mira saw that the true light of the lighthouse was not only the great beam that whirled over the ocean, but also the serene courage that it reflected back to those who trusted it. However, one afternoon Mira received some unpleasant news. The town council considered installing a new, less maintenance-intensive electric tower in place of the current lighthouse. Others said the old building was no longer usable and was too expensive to maintain. Mira's chest constricted. The lighthouse was made of more than just glass and stone; it had the ability to hear and shield wishes.

She rushed to her grandfather that evening and filled him in on everything that had transpired. He listened intently, stroking his white beard. Mira determined she would not let the lighthouse be forgotten. "Sometimes," he said, "people forget how important things that can't be measured in coins." She began gathering the children of the community the next day. She explained to them how the lighthouse listened and how feeling braver came from standing tall. Many remembered moments when they had felt comfortable close to its walls, while others were skeptical.

Together, they began penning letters expressing their own meanings for the lighthouse. They received testimonies from bakers, fishers, shopkeepers, and even an irate old watchmaker who claimed to have liked the way the beam swept over his workshop at night. Thanks and hope soon filled the stack of texts, making it weighty and thick. When the council met to discuss what to do with the lighthouse, Mira and the residents presented the letters to them. Each person took turns sharing how the lighthouse had gotten them through emotional and maritime storms.