I know I haven't blogged for a while, but I am currently trying to finish up the book I'm writing by May 1, and so I've been putting most of the time I have for writing into that. I'll still try to post on here as often as possible, but it won't be as frequently as it was before. Now, onto the real post...
There's something about power outages that bring people together.
Several nights ago, the power went out at my small group. The group meets in an apartment, and by the time I arrived, the power was out across the whole building (and the whole block). One of the guys who was already there graciously volunteered to continually run up and down four flights of stairs to lead the people arriving up to the apartment. Once there, the place was lit up with an array of different candles that several people helped light. When someone needed to use the pitch black bathroom, someone lent them the flashlight on their phone to light up the way. We gathered around peaceful candlelight, the entire atmosphere eerily quiet. Maybe it was the absence of the normal hum of the refrigerator.
When someone had trouble seeing the words to read in their Bibles, another would shine a cell phone or an iPad over them, illuminating the wispy-thin pages. People scooted closer together, opting to share Bibles, so they wouldn't need as many lights. Not to mention the fact that the heat was also run by electricity, so the temperature ever so slowly dropped. And yet, I had never felt warmer.
The power was revived about halfway through, and while it was a good thing for all of the businesses across the street that had also lost power, I couldn't help but feel a hint of sadness. Because we felt just a little bit more like family throughout the power outage. People were just a little bit more willing to help, a little bit more willing to be that awkward person that sits real close to another. Now, obviously, the need to lend someone your phone as a flashlight so they can navigate the murky terrain of the bathroom disappears when the power's up and running.
But the need for community? The need for having an ever watchful eye for people in need, whether it be for a light, food, or just a listening ear? That won't ever disappear. And even when we're surrounded by a sea of people, it's so easy to get wrapped up in ourselves and never venture out past our cardboard walls and comfort zones. When the lights went out, people became more mindful of the needs of other people, but it really shouldn't have to be that way. It should just be a natural lens, the night vision goggles with which we see the world and its crazy, beautiful inhabitants. I want to be a light for Christ, a light that warmly welcomes people in and helps them out even when it hurts me. I want to be that awkward person that scoots in way too close to someone else, saturating the cracks and crevices of their hearts with the Living Water. When someone's lost and stumbling and caught in the darkness, I want Christ's light to burst forth so powerfully from my heart, they can't even see me anymore, just the radiant beauty of our Savior.
Now, I know this is so much easier said than done. And, frankly, I'm not even sure what it will always look like. But I'm tired of waiting, tired of passing by all these people in their own power outages and never stopping to lend them a light. So, let us make it our daily prayer to put on the eyes of Christ, his eyes that see through the outer layer and pierce the darkness underneath with a living and active peace. I'm not sure where it will go after that, but it's a start, a tiny seed, and that's enough for God to take and plant and grow into a beautiful thing.
I never would've thought that a power outage would be so convicting, but God's used crazier ways to communicate with people before, right?
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