Okay, back in Cup 9, we talked about a friend
of mine who heard a noise under the hood and
just turned up the radio to drown it out. Which,
let's be honest, that's not exactly a diagnostic
strategy. It's more like denial with a soundtrack.
And we've all done some version of that. Something's
rattling or grinding. It clearly sounds like
it's about to become a whole situation. And instead
of dealing with it, we just make the music louder.
And we hope whatever's happening under the hood
Finds Jesus on its own. That conversation was
about the noises we already know are there. The
things we hear, sense, and recognize, but we
actively try to drown out because we don't want
to deal with them. But today I want to shift
the picture a little bit. Because sometimes the
issue isn't a noise we're ignoring. Sometimes
we don't know something's wrong yet. And that's
where the warning light is an absolute gift.
A check engine light, an oil light, a temperature
gauge, those things are designed to get our attention
before the damage becomes permanent. They interrupt
us before the breakdown. So I had a 1978 Chevy
pickup that I drove when I was in high school,
and man, I loved that truck. It was so loud,
rough around the edges, and had just enough personality
to make you feel like starting it should have
required a prayer request. and a deacon with
jumper cables. Sometimes it just required a heel
for a roll start. But I was young, and by young
I mean young and dumb. I wasn't rebellious or
malicious, just the kind of dumb where you think
your vehicle mostly runs on gas, hope, and whatever
mechanical grace the Lord has provided for that
particular Tuesday. One thing I did not do very
well was check fluids. You know, things like
oil, coolant, transmission fluid. Those sounded
like things responsible adults worried about.
And I was not yet burdened by that level of maturity.
Well, funny thing about that truck. It did not
have a functioning warning light to tell me oil
was low. So no dashboard mercy there. No little
glowing symbol to say, hey Cody, maybe pull over
before this becomes a whole situation. Nothing.
So I just kept driving. Until I couldn't. This
was before cell phones were everywhere, and I
was in a spot that, well, still doesn't have
any cell service anyway, so it wouldn't have
mattered. Even if I had a cell phone, it would
have just been an expensive watch in my pocket.
That truck ran completely out of oil, the engine
locked up, and I ended up stranded on the side
of the road down 123 in Arkansas, if any of you
know where that's at. Let me tell you, that's
a very humbling way to learn that oil is not
optional. Now, none of us enjoy a check engine
light coming on. When it comes on, we usually
get frustrated or worried, or we immediately
start doing the spiritual math like, Lord, I
have $13, a coupon for Taco Bell, and a deep
desire for this to really be nothing. But here's
the reality. A warning light is a gift. It's
designed to come on before the engine blows.
And spiritually, I think we need to learn to
thank God for the warning lights. Because sometimes,
the thing that interrupts us is the exact thing
God uses to rescue us. Welcome to an extra shot
of Grace on the Grind, the part of the podcast
where the mic probably should have been turned
off, but we kept talking anyway. This is a bonus
space for deeper theology, honest stories, fewer
filters, and a level of caffeinated commentary.
I should probably apologize for it in advance.
So grab your coffee, just to keep up, and take
a breath. Let's get into this. In the main episode,
we talked about the foundations and what happens
when life puts pressure on what we've built.
And one of the things I keep coming back to in
this is sometimes God exposes the problem before
the whole thing gives way. That exposure can
feel incredibly frustrating or inconvenient.
It feels like one more thing you absolutely do
not have time to deal with. But the warning is
not the enemy. The warning is grace. The warning
light is not what broke the engine. The warning
light is what tells you something's wrong before
the engine blows. And that's very different from
just hearing a noise and turning up the radio.
This is about realizing God may be kind enough
to show us what we couldn't see yet. Not just
the obvious rattle or the noise we already noticed.
but the deeper issue under the surface of life
that still looks fine from the road. That's really
what Part 2 has been about. The pressure to produce,
the exhaustion, the panic and waiting, the financial
stress, the discontentment, and the constant
need for more, all of those are warning lights.
They weren't necessarily signs that everything
had collapsed, but they were signs that something
needed attention. That's mercy. God loves us.
He will not just peacefully let us build our
lives on the sand without ever disturbing us.
He will interrupt what needs interrupting and
expose what is misaligned. He will let that little
light come on and nudge your soul. Not because
he's cruel, but because he's kind. Here's where
we've... have to be honest with ourselves. When
the warning light comes on, most of us do not
immediately think, praise God, an opportunity
for diagnostic. No! We think, oh man, how bad
is this? Or the other one, how long can I keep
driving it like this? How expensive is this going
to be? And if you really are mature, you know,
like those older men that we know, You tap on
the glass, you look at it again, you tap a few
more times, thinking that somehow that will minister
to the vehicle. Spiritually, we do the same thing.
We want relief before correction. We want the
anxiety to calm down without asking what it's
revealed. The budget stress to disappear without
asking what our spending has been trying to comfort.
We want the exhaustion to lift without asking
why we keep calling an unsustainable pace. Faithful.
We want the conviction to ease before we let
God deal with what the conviction was pointing
to. But grace does not just clear the dashboard.
Grace gets under the hood. Hebrews 12 says, For
the moment, all discipline seems painful rather
than pleasant. But later, it yields the peaceful
fruit of righteousness to those who have been
trained by it. Man, that's good. That verse tells
the truth. Correction usually doesn't feel pleasant
in the moment. A warning light does not feel
pleasant either. It interrupts you. It inconveniences
you. It may force you to stop when you were trying
to keep moving. But later, if we're all trained
by it, it yields fruit. That's the difference.
The warning light itself is not the fruit. The
discomfort itself is not the goal. The goal is
what God produces when we respond to his correction
instead of resenting it. Peaceful fruit, righteousness,
a life brought back into alignment. That's grace
that loves us enough to correct us before the
damage goes deeper. So here's the question I
want to leave you with for this final extra shot
of Pot 2. What did God show you this season because
he loved you? Not what annoyed you or interrupted
your plans. Not what you wish would magically
go away. What did God love you enough to bring
into the light? Maybe it was your pace, your
spending, how much you tie your identity to producing.
Waiting exposed control you didn't realize was
there, maybe. Or it might be your family, your
work. or your idea of success had been carrying
the weight it was never meant to carry. Whatever
it was, don't despise the warning light. Thank
God it came on. Then slow down long enough to
respond. Because a warning light without a response
doesn't help much. That little light on the dashboard
can glow faithfully all day long. And if you've
had some vehicles like mine, it did. But if I
just keep driving like nothing is wrong, I can't
blame the light when the engine locks up. The
point is not just notice the warning light. The
point is to let God lead us back to wisdom, repentance,
Christ. And that's exactly where pot two needs
to end. Not with shame or panic. Not with some
dramatic vow that we're going to fix our entire
lives by Tuesday. Because let's be honest, we'll
make a list of everything that needs to be fixed,
and by next Tuesday, most of us will still be
trying to remember where we put that list. Part
two does not end with us becoming impressive.
It ends with us returning to Christ, returning
from the false dream, from the pressure to prove
our worth, from the exhaustion we called responsibility,
and from the version of success that could never
satisfy. The warning light is not the enemy.
The exposure is not the end. The interruption
may be mercy. Because a better foundation still
stands, and his name is Jesus. So if God has
shown you something this season, don't run from
it. Bring it to him. Let him search, repair,
and rebuild what you finally stopped pretending
is stable. Then keep walking. Not perfectly or
impressively, just faithfully. Thanks for listening
to this extra shot of Pot 2 of Grace in the Grind.
Pot 2 has been about the false dream we were
sold. and the better foundation that still stands.
Lord willing, in July, we'll step into pot three
and begin looking at what the Bible actually
says about Christ and his church. Until then,
keep your coffee strong and your faith stronger.
And for the love of all things mechanical, check
your oil. We'll see you in the next cup.