Lessons in Life #2
The Funnel, the Gasoline, and the Light Behind the Clouds
Yesterday I was given the grace to see light in the otherwise mundane — in my real estate courses, and even in a court filing against my landlord. There is light in everything. I hope this reflection, and today’s lesson, offers even a small break in the clouds — for that light to shine through.
I’ve been pouring gasoline into a funnel with nothing to catch it. I thought I had placed the lawn mower at the spout. But I missed. Now I’ve wasted gasoline and have nothing to show for it. The mower is waiting patiently, with so much to offer — and the funnel is satisfied — it served its purpose. But me? I’m frustrated.
I focused so much on the funnel, that I missed the whole purpose of pouring the gasoline in the first place.
Pouring into a funnel with no motor to catch it is like emptying ourselves into a project or person and forgetting about God. All of creation is a funnel — a two-way vessel. And the mower, representing God, has the infinite capacity to transform that offering into life. But when we pour out our blood, sweat, and tears into something misaligned — when it’s not directed toward God — the gasoline spills everywhere. The effort is wasted.
The funnel may get all of your energy. But when you stop pouring, it can’t give anything back. If it’s a person, and they’re also pouring into you without God beneath either of you, both of you eventually run dry — and are left looking at each other in despair.
But when we tap into God, our reservoir never runs dry. Neither does theirs.
The problem is not the funnel. It’s where we’ve been aiming it.
When realigned, everything in this world can be — and is meant to be — redeemed.
The sun still shines behind the clouds. The funnel is how we reach that light. But it must be directed toward God for the light to be revealed.
You may ask: why must the funnel be aimed toward God and not something else? Because everything else eventually runs dry — maybe not in quantity, but in fulfillment.
While studying for my real estate exam yesterday, I felt drained by the dryness of the material. My funnel — my effort — was aimed at joy and excitement. But beneath that, it was aimed at me. When I remembered Abraham purchasing a burial plot in Genesis, I was struck with wonder: What would Abraham — someone who saw God’s light far more clearly — think of real estate today?
He wouldn’t dwell on the corruption or cynicism. He’d marvel at the order, the structure, the legacy. Studying was no longer a chore. My funnel had moved — and the light came through.
Later, I prepared to file a court claim against my landlord for illegally withholding my security deposit. I was hesitant. I dislike conflict and feared acting out of pride or greed.
But again, I moved the funnel. I shifted my focus from the money and the dispute to justice — to the Source of all Order in the universe.
I prayed for my landlord. I repented of my own pride. And I remembered: God sees everything. The truth matters not for my sake, but for His.
Glory to God for blessing us with His light in this scenario. The landlord chose to do God’s will—and we are avoiding court.
When we stop pouring into the wrong funnels, and rest in silence, God gives us glimpses — small windows into His light.
We must remember, again and again, where the funnel belongs. So that even in the clouds, we can find the sun.
Reflections
The empty mower leaves the lawn uncut.
The leaking gas kills the grass.
Seal the holes, or pay the tolls.
Plant the seeds, or pay the fees.
If the seeds aren’t planted, the grass never grows.
But here’s the grace: the seed has already been planted in all of us. The grass is growing.
Yet if we keep holding the funnel over everything but the mower,
then the gas we pour goes to waste —
and what was meant to become a beautiful garden
falls into disorder and turns to chaos.