I got my first patent in 1979 before I left the Air Force. I

Hear, O seekers of invention, the testimony of Lonnie Johnson, a man of vision and persistence: “I got my first patent in 1979 before I left the Air Force. I called it the Digital Distance Measuring Instrument. It used ones and zeros and dots and dashes and a magnifying lens to read binary-encoded information from a scale that was photographically reduced. It used the same kind of technology that’s used in CDs and DVDs.” These words are not merely about machines and measurements; they reveal the birth of creativity, the fusion of discipline, imagination, and patience into a gift for the world.

From the beginning, invention has been born at the meeting place of vision and necessity. Johnson, still young and leaving behind his days in uniform, turned his mind to creation. In his patent lay the seeds of a future shaped by digital precision, the kind that would soon transform music, memory, and knowledge itself. His instrument was not a weapon, nor a mere curiosity, but a tool that embodied the age-old drive of mankind: to measure, to understand, to bring order to the unseen.

Consider, O listeners, how small beginnings lead to vast revolutions. The dots and dashes of Morse code once carried voices across oceans; the binary of Johnson’s scale carried information with clarity unseen before. The humble CD, a circle of plastic and light, transformed how the world stored music and memory. And here was Johnson, before these tools were household names, already walking in the same stream of discovery. This is the origin of his quote: the recognition that even the simplest innovation may foreshadow technologies that change how civilizations live.

The story of Lonnie Johnson is also the story of perseverance. Many know him as the inventor of the Super Soaker, a toy of delight. Yet before play came patience: the long hours of tinkering, the lonely pursuit of patents, the uncertain path of an inventor. His Digital Distance Measuring Instrument was not only about function, but about proving to himself that ideas can be made real. It was his entry into the sacred order of creators—those who leave behind more than they found.

So too in history, we see parallels. Gutenberg, when he first pressed letters into movable type, could not have foreseen the flood of books that would follow. The Wright brothers, with their fragile flyer at Kitty Hawk, could not have imagined the jets that would cross oceans in hours. Johnson, with his measuring instrument, walked that same path—creating something modest in appearance, yet woven into the vast story of human technology.

The meaning of his words is thus: invention is not sudden miracle, but patient craft. It grows from discipline, from curiosity, from the courage to claim an idea and protect it with a patent. And it reminds us that every tool, however small, may be the ancestor of wonders to come. To understand this is to respect even the smallest innovations, for each is a stepping stone in humanity’s long climb.

The lesson for you, O hearers, is clear. Do not despise small beginnings. If you have an idea, pursue it. If you see a problem, seek a solution. Learn the discipline of bringing imagination into form. Like Johnson, you may find that the humble work of today becomes the foundation of tomorrow’s marvels. Protect your ideas, nurture them, and let them grow in service to others.

Therefore, let Lonnie Johnson’s words be your guide. See in them the truth that every age of technology begins with the courage of one soul to create. And remember: it is not enough to dream; one must also labor, document, and persevere. For through such patience, the unseen becomes real, and the ordinary man becomes the ancestor of extraordinary change.