When God Wants to Give You More Than a Jump

My car battery died. It was over five years old, so when the single-digit temperatures hit Oklahoma this past weekend, they sapped out what little life was left in the battery. (Rest in peace, little buddy.)

My older brother, who happens to be a school bus mechanic, kept insisting that I needed a new battery, which was all well and good, but seriously, all I wanted was a jump. I figured I could go to Wal-Mart, get one of those little jump boxes, and be in a position to jump myself. You know, until I could get the money together for a battery.

And I totally would have made that work.

As God worked it out, I received a Christmas bonus at work yesterday, and so I had the money for a new battery before I even got the jumpstart for which I was about willing to give my firstborn.

After my car was back up and running yesterday evening, my mom said something profound. (I don’t think she meant it to be profound, but sometimes the things people say just hit me, you know?) She said, “The cold tends to bring those kinds of things to light.”

The cold tends to bring those kinds of things to light.

There are certain things that only certain circumstances can bring about.

Cold temperatures will completely drain an old battery and reveal not only the need for power, but the need for a replacement of the old source of power with a completely new one, because no battery was made to last forever.

This morning, a coworker who helped me with my car told me, “That battery had probably been going little bit by little bit for a long time.”

See, I am the patron saint of lost causes, and I believe in my core that if I just do my part, I can infuse dying things with new life. And for a while, I can. For a while, I guess I’m probably meant to, for as long as I’m given the grace. Sometimes, I strive beyond the grace I’ve been given, and that’s when God sends the cold – to show me I’m holding a dead thing, to show me it’s time for a new thing.

Oh, yes. The cold tends to bring those kinds of things to light.

“And everything that is illuminated becomes a light” (Ephesians 5:13b NIV).

In this coming season – the season that is now here – the dead things are going to burn up. All of the things I’ve poured my life into that are no longer living, they’re going to catch fire and be consumed. And the light from that fire is going to be a beacon until the sun rises.

And the sun will rise.

The darkness cannot conquer the light.

Death cannot conquer life.

Light and life are not as peaceful as one might imagine, for darkness and death will not be defeated without a brutal battle. The dawn is not silent, for the light and life it brings have fought to be there, and they raise a victory cry. The holiness, the sacredness there is not silent, is not still, is not settled. It is exuberant, vibrant, powerful.

Yes, light and life are unparalleled in power. The majesty of a sunrise is found in its having been through and gained victory over the night. The victory of light and life is known only by those who fight through the night.

There are certain things that only certain circumstances can bring about.


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