“In him was life, and that life was the light of all mankind.” — John 1:4

We all intuitively understand the connection between light and life. We “wake up” our houses in the mornings by flicking on lamps, and we bring snoring children back to life by flipping on every available light switch. We liven up a dinner party with taper candles, a Christmas tree with string lights, and a wedding send-off with sparklers.

Conversely, we feel the deadness of a house when all the lights are off, and we feel the deadness of Christmas cheer when we spot the one house in the neighborhood who never got around to untangling and hanging the twinkle lights. (It’s mine. Oops.) Similarly, during those late nights in postpartum seasons, I felt like the only living soul on a dead planet, but as the sun rose, the world seemed to come alive again.

Jesus taps into these natural associations when he identifies himself with both light and life. He’s “the light of the world” (John 8:12), and he’s “the way, the truth, and the life” (John 14:6). Incredibly, to all who look to him, Jesus gives himself: his light shines the dark corners of our souls, chasing away the shadows of condemnation, and his life flows into places that were dead.

If you’re like me, it’s easy to accept this as eternally true without embracing it as ordinarily true. It’ll be real on our deathbed, but is it real on a Thursday? In the car line? When the teenager working the grocery pickup service inexplicably replaces the requested eggs with egg salad?

Interestingly, if you investigate the definition of “eternal life”—a term used quite a bit in the Gospel of John—you’ll find that it doesn’t merely mean “unending.” It implies quality. Jesus is not only the source of eternal life but the source of quality life.

What does it look like, practically, to find and enjoy the quality of life Jesus offers? To bask in His light not merely in our eternity but in our everyday life?

I think it’s a question of source.

Recognizing Our Life Source

For my husband, one of the big selling points of our house was the generator. Though I didn’t know why I should care about that big metal box in the backyard, all visiting menfolk ooh-ed and ahh-ed appropriately when my husband would escort them outside to admire it. Meanwhile, if the visiting man had a wife, she and I would observe this phenomenon from the kitchen window, staring at one another like, “What?” It was hard for us to care about a generator.

That is, until the power went out in our neighborhood. A moment of blackness was followed by a delightful whirring, and then…light! Suddenly, I realized I loved that generator. I wanted to hug that generator, to give it a name (Gen-iffer), to put it in my will. At that moment, my quality of life was vastly superior to my neighbors, bless their hearts. We had light, we had life, and we could use the microwave. Let’s have popcorn!

Flicking on a light switch is a humdrum task we perform without any sense of gratitude or wonder, until, of course, it doesn’t work. Once a power outage alerts us to the depth of our “need” for electricity, we delight over its restoration.

When we encounter the gospel, it’s something like a generator for the soul, except that our soul is experiencing light for the first time. In that moment, we recognize our life source: it is Christ alone. We are born into his family, we are made new, we become “children of the light” (1 Thessalonians 5:5), and we are given a much better name than Gen-iffer: beloved.

Remembering Our Life Source

Of course, this bright rebirth can grow dim. Have you ever noticed how the mundane can dull our memory of the miraculous? Many counselors have challenged lifeless married couples to remember their wedding day. Mediating on glorious origins can breathe new life into wilting places—even Thursdays, even when Trevor at Walmart replaced the eggs with egg-salad.

In the same way, we, too, need to meditate on our origin story. We’re so used to being “children of the light” (1 Thessalonians 5:5) that we’ve forgotten our miraculous rescue and the darkness to which we no longer belong. What was it like when you realized, “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it” (John 1:5)? Place a “pin drop” in this story and revisit it whenever you feel disoriented.

Of course, sin dampens our ability to rejoice over our own rescue, but even then, God helps us. We can borrow David’s prayer, “Restore to me the joy of your salvation and grant me a willing spirit, to sustain me” (Psalm 51:12).

Reveling in Our Life Source

But it’s not merely about remembering—it’s about reveling. He who made us new is still making us new. He who brought us from death to life is still bringing us from death to life. As Paul told the Corinthians, “Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day” (2 Corinthians 4:16). Jesus revitalizes us in our everyday lives, as we settle into his Word and slowly grow in wisdom, as we bring all of our thoughts and feelings before him in prayer and experience his peace, as we cling to him for patience with Walmart Trevor (I should let this go), and eventually see the patience grow. The Light of the World is with us always, illuminating our every step if we’ll pay attention.

Oftentimes, we live as our own power sources, feeling pride when we’re strong and shame when we’re weak. But the Bible is clear that in our weakness, God is strong on our behalf, and in our strength—well, we have to be honest that he’s truly the one keeping the lights on. 

This Christmas, it will be tempting to operate in your own power or to ask twinkling lights and shiny events to make life lively. But don’t be surprised when you flip the switch and everything still feels dark. These things, of course, are not your source. Recognize the true Light of the World, regularly remember how he rescued you, and revel in the quality life you have because he is with you, always.