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As we journey through Advent and the days grow shorter and the evenings come early, it seems fitting to admit that most of life feels like traveling in the dark with only partial visibility. We see so little, we react to what is right in front of us, and we trust that the rest of the road will reveal itself in time. Advent invites us into that very place, into the darkness of waiting and the hope of a coming Light.
Not long ago my wife and I were driving on a rural road after dark, far from any streetlights. Our low beams were on, and like most of us, we did not think much about how little those headlights actually illuminate. Later I learned that low beams often only light up around 150–200 feet ahead, and the peripheral area—everything to the sides of the road—is mostly swallowed by darkness. It struck me that on a road like that we are making decisions at 45 or 55 miles an hour based on seeing only a tiny fraction of what surrounds us. It is amazing we ever get anywhere safely.
As we drove deeper into the night, I suddenly decided to flip on the high beams. The moment I did, the road ahead brightened, and there, standing directly in my lane, was a deer. Had we stayed on low beams, I never would have seen it in time. Thankfully, the sudden burst of light startled the deer, and he jumped off the road just seconds before we reached him. My heart was pounding—one small change, one slight increase in light, and disaster was avoided.
That moment took me back to another night years ago when things did not turn out so well. A deer darted out at the last possible second. There was no time to react. We hit it squarely. Our van was severely damaged. Our family was shaken and stranded for hours along a dark interstate. The whole experience left us feeling vulnerable, exposed, and powerless. It was a reminder that even cautious drivers cannot see everything, and even the best headlights do not reveal every danger that might suddenly leap into our path.
Those experiences merged in my mind as I thought about the Christian life, and this Advent season. Spiritually speaking, we live most of our days on “low beams.” We see today. We see the next few steps. We rarely see much farther than that. We cannot see what waits around the corner, what is hiding in the shadows, or what is coming toward us from the periphery. Our plans are made with limited information. Our decisions are shaped by what is visible in the small circle of light right in front of us.
Advent reminds us that God often works in that kind of dim light. The prophets spoke of a promise they could not yet see in full: “The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light.” On a quiet night in Bethlehem, that Light stepped into our world, but even then most people slept right through it. God came as a Child in the shadows, and only a few shepherds and wise men noticed.
Psalm 119 reminds us that God’s word is “a lamp to our feet and a light to our path,” not a spotlight that shows us the next five miles. Lamps and headlights have something in common—they show us enough to take the next step, not the whole journey. Advent asks us to live in that kind of trust. We do not yet see Christmas morning; we live in the in-between, lighting one small candle at a time, watching the darkness slowly give way.
Proverbs 3:5–6 reminds us how essential this trust really is: “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and do not lean on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make your paths straight.” In other words, even when our headlights do not reach very far, we are called to trust the One who sees the full road. Our understanding is the low beam; His wisdom is the high beam that guides us safely forward.
And yet, sometimes Jesus gives us what feels like a spiritual “high beam.” Something prompts us to pray more deeply, to pause, to reflect, to look again with clearer eyes. Suddenly we see a danger, an unhealthy pattern, a looming spiritual collision we never would have recognized without that extra illumination. In those moments we are spared—not because we were wise, but because grace lit the road just in time. Advent can be a season like that, when the Holy Spirit quietly reveals habits, attachments, or fears that are standing in the middle of our lane, and invites us to change course before we are hurt.
Other times we hit the deer. The job is lost, the relationship shatters, the diagnosis blindsides us. We find ourselves on the shoulder of life’s highway, shaken and unsure. We sit in the dark waiting for help, and we remember how fragile we are. Those experiences humble us. They deepen our trust. They teach us that “leaning on our own understanding” is never enough, and that God sees the whole road even when we do not.
As we make our Advent journey, perhaps we can ask ourselves: Where are we driving on “low beams,” relying only on our own sight? Where might Jesus be inviting us to switch on the high beams—not to see everything, but to see enough? Where do we need to slow down, trust more deeply, and depend on the One who sees what we cannot?
Perhaps this week we can share with a friend and tell them about the roads we are traveling in the dark, the dangers we have only recently noticed, the sudden twists that have surprised us, and where we have experienced God’s grace shining just in time. We are all traveling on the road of life with headlights that do not reach very far. In this Advent season of candles and waiting, we remember that Jesus is the Light of the world. He sees the road ahead. We need to follow His light, one revealed step at a time.
Heavenly Father, I bring to You all the dark roads I am traveling. I confess that I often live on low beams, trusting mostly in my own understanding. Teach me to lean on You. Shine the light of Your Word on my path. When I need correction, give me the grace of “high beams” to see clearly. When I sit on the shoulder, shaken and afraid, remind me that You are already there with me. As I wait for the coming of Your Son, Jesus, help me to walk by faith, one step at a time, trusting the Light that no darkness can overcome. Amen!
AMDG
(Many of you have inquired about the AMDG that appears at the end of each 4th Day Letter. AMDG is a Latin abbreviation for “Ad Majorem Dei Gloriam,” which means “For the Greater Glory of God.”)
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