When I was a boy, I fixed a cheap pair of computer speakers with a rubber band and some foil. I just cracked them open and fixed them, much like my boyhood hero MacGyver might have done with his trademark Swiss Army knife. After this experience I felt a distinct, invincible attitude toward electronic problems. If I can unscrew it and look around inside, I can fix it.
This confidence is largely unwarranted. See, I’m actually not good at fixing things. I really have no idea what is happening inside a pair of computer speakers. If I do fix it, it is mostly luck. When I see the circuit board inside, it looks like a little electronic city with dozens of buildings I don’t recognize. Nevertheless, I maintain confidence in my ability to repair. So, when one of my computer speakers cut out recently, I flipped open my trusty Leatherman and unscrewed it. Then, I used a paper clip to connect different shiny parts on the circuit board to see if I could bring back the MacGuyver magic of 1989 and fix it.
Well, it turns out that you shouldn’t try and fix speakers when they’re plugged into your laptop. In my repeated attempts to connect the offending circuits, I accidentally sent 110 volts of power into my laptop and burnt … something. I didn’t know what, but there was a distinct “you burnt something” smell coming from the laptop.
Later that day, the man at Circuit City (ironic, I know) told me that I had fried something called ‘the sound card.’ He said the sound card couldn’t handle so much electricity and that what I did was “bad”. Whatever.
Sometimes I feel like the harder I try to fix something, the more I break it. I feel like my whole life is like this broken circuit board that doesn’t work, and I’m supposed to repair it but I don’t know how. I know there must be a right way to do this, but I don’t know what it is.
Some nights when I fold up my paper clip I’m not sure if I’ve done more harm than good. I think I might be burning relationships and frying feelings without even knowing it. But recently as I thought about my experience, I was reminded of this verse towards the end of the Bible that says, “Behold, I make all things new.”
New. Not just fixed–but new. Back to the beginning, fresh, out-of-the-box, brand-spanking new. I’m trying to think about this verse more. I think it helps me because it reminds me of the degree to which God is going to repair things. This is not a rubber band and foil repair. No MacGyver magic needed here. No. The One who made everyone and every thing will one day make all things new.
When I imagine this moment, I see billions of people standing in awe around God’s throne, and each person will experience a newness that is unlike anything any human has ever felt. And yet, I think the feeling will be understood. No more crying, no more pain and no more death. You won’t lean over and ask the person next to you what happened because you will know. All things are made new.
Every hard day is one day closer to that moment. If you are beat down today, surrounded by the wires and screws of an unglued life, please remember this. There is a day–and it will be here before you know it–when God gathers you and me up and takes us to be with Him.
And He will not merely repair your life. He will make all things new.
