I grew up in a home where winter felt like an enemy that we could never quite outrun. My mom worked two jobs, and our old furnace broke so often that I learned what cold felt like in a way most kids never should. I used to lie awake at night praying, “Lord, please help us get through one more storm.”
Maybe that’s why, when I became an HVAC repairman years later, I told God He could use my hands however He wanted. I didn’t have a grand ministry plan. I just remembered what it felt like to be cold, scared, and invisible. And I didn’t want any family to feel that way if I could help it.
A few winters ago, I got a call from a single mother whose furnace had stopped working. I could hear the worry in her voice before she even explained the situation. When I arrived, it was clear money was tight: blankets pushed against doors, kids bundled in coats inside the house, space heaters trying their best.
She kept apologizing, telling me she didn’t know how she would pay, but she wanted me to look anyway. I told her I would figure it out.
It ended up being a minor repair; something small but dangerous to leave unchecked. When I told her everything was working again, she broke down in tears. She reached for her wallet, and I gently put my hand over hers.
“No charge,” I told her. “Someone once helped my family when we couldn’t afford heat. I’m just passing it on.”
She didn’t say anything at first, just hugged me like she’d known me her whole life.
Moments like that remind me why I do this. It isn’t about the money or the business. It’s about obedience. It’s about showing up quietly in the spaces where fear lives and bringing a little warmth; physically and spiritually.
Jesus met people in their practical needs, not just their spiritual ones. I try to do the same. Every time I fix a furnace for someone who can’t afford it, I feel like I’m honoring the prayers my younger self whispered into the cold.
And honestly, that’s all I ever wanted to do.
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