Picture
this: Paul is preaching deep into the night in Troas. A young guy, perched in a
window (rookie mistake), drifts off mid-sermon and takes a three-story nosedive
to his death. Panic explodes—can you even imagine? But Paul, filled with the
Holy Spirit, bolts downstairs, scoops him up, and says, “He’s alive!” Just like
that, God restores what was lost. Not just to shock or awe, but to wrap His
people in a comfort that can only come from witnessing divine intervention.
Now about
that phrase—“not a little comforted.” It’s the Bible’s charmingly understated
way of saying, “They were overwhelmed with comfort.” They weren’t just a
little-bit pleased, they were freaking out with joy! In the first
century, this was how you described being absolutely floored with
encouragement. One moment they thought Eutychus was gone—hearts breaking, tears
flowing. The next, he’s breathing! Celebration erupts. This wasn’t polite
applause and a group hug. This was dancing, weeping, shouting,
praising-the-roof-off joy. The kind of comfort that marks you. The kind that
makes you say, “There’s no way that wasn’t God.”
Maybe
something in your life has fallen too—a relationship, a dream, your faith, a
calling. It feels dead. Beyond resuscitation. But here’s the good news: our God
specializes in reviving things that appear dead. He still meets us in the
midnight hour, in the middle of the mess, and breathes life into what we were
ready to bury. When He does, you don’t just walk away with a good story—you
walk away changed. Revived. Deeply, irrevocably comforted.
So don’t
write the obituary just yet. Whatever feels lifeless, bring it to Jesus. Let
Him rewrite the ending. Believe again. And when the comfort comes—and oh, it
will—don’t keep it bottled up. Testify! Just like that church in Troas, your
miracle may spark someone else’s hope. What looks like a tragedy might be the birthplace
of your greatest testimony. Keep your heart wide open to midnight miracles.
May the Lord open your eyes to see His hand at work—even when it’s pitch black. May He breathe fresh wind into your soul, into every place that aches. And may He leave you—yes, you—“not a little comforted,” but overflowing with unshakable peace, relentless hope, and joy that makes no earthly sense.
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