It all began on Christmas morning. That quiet moment when the house should be warm, the kettle should be on, and the only thing dripping should be gravy later in the day.
At 6 a.m., Killy and I woke up to . . . nothing.
No warmth.
No comforting hum of the central heating.
Just a silence so cold it felt personal.
The heating was off.
The boiler had stopped working and the house felt like it had emotionally disengaged from temperature altogether.
Now this was not just any morning. We had children, grandchildren, and an aunt and uncle arriving. The turkey was waiting patiently in the kitchen. And I was standing there in my dressing gown, thinking, ‘At least the turkey won’t complain.’
We briefly discussed ringing our aunt and uncle and saying, ‘Please wear more clothes. Possibly all of them. Including ski wear.’
On investigation, we discovered the boiler wasn’t just sulking. It was leaking. Killy rang our boiler service provider and was greeted by . . . a robot.
Cold voice.
No compassion.
No understanding.
No sense that this was not a drill but a domestic emergency.
So I did what any spiritually mature husband would do. I prayed. ‘Lord, please let a human appear.’
And joy of joys – one did.
I encouraged Killy to express her emotions: the shock, the stress, the injustice of beginning Christmas Day wrapped in blankets. Somewhere between anguish and determination, Killy learned how to reset the boiler.
The heating came on. Feeling returned to our fingers. Hope re-entered the house.
But . . . the leak remained.
We were told the boiler was still under guarantee, but only if we rang the manufacturer – which we could only do after Christmas.
So after Christmas, a man arrived. The moment we opened the door, we knew. This was not a man of peace. This was a glass-half-empty, cloud-follows-him-everywhere, joy-misplaced kind of man.
He glanced at the leaking pipe and said, ‘That’s not our responsibility.’
Five minutes later – four of which were spent filling out the invoice – he left. £98!
Meanwhile . . . another leak appeared. This time in the shower. Our home service plan said, ‘Ah. Water softener involved. Not covered.’
Of course it isn’t!
So we rang the plumber. A good man. A skilled man. A seriously expensive man. He fixed it. We paid it. We rejoiced.
Two weeks later . . . it was still leaking.
He returned yesterday and, behind the utility-room wall, discovered another leaking pipe. Another problem hidden from view.
Now we’re waiting for an estimate. And in the meantime . . . old towels are soaking up the water. Not fixing the problem. Just absorbing the consequences.
And that’s when it dawned on me . . .
This isn’t just plumbing. It’s a parable. Because spiritually, many of us aren’t just leaking, we’re also blocked.
Some of us are losing joy.
Some of us are leaking peace.
Some of us are dry where love should be flowing.
We reset the boiler. We keep the house warm. We carry on. But something is still wrong.
The Christian life was never meant to be a drip-feed
Jesus said that those who believe in him would experience rivers of living water flowing from within, and the gospel writer makes it clear that Jesus was talking about the Holy Spirit.
Christianity is not meant to be static. It’s meant to be dynamic. Not stagnant, but flowing. Which is why there’s an old saying that is profoundly honest: ‘I need to be filled with the Holy Spirit every day because I leak.’
That’s not failure. That’s realism.
Life drains us.
People drain us.
Pressure drains us.
Ministry drains us.
Even joy, if it’s not replenished, eventually leaks away.
Now here’s the important thing. If there’s no fruit, it may not just be a leak. It may be a blockage.
The apostle Paul tells us that the Holy Spirit produces fruit:
Love. Joy. Peace. Patience. Kindness. Goodness. Faithfulness. Gentleness. Self-control.
Fruit is not manufactured. It’s produced.
So if love isn’t flowing, if joy has dried up, if peace feels blocked, if patience has evaporated, the issue may not be effort. It may be connection.
Jesus said plainly that no branch can bear fruit by itself. It must remain in the vine.
No root.
No flow.
No fruit.
We can look fine externally and still be dry internally. We can be busy and still blocked. We can be warm and still leaking.
Many of us live with spiritual towels
We mop up anxiety with activity. We soak up guilt with busyness. We absorb pain with distraction. But towels don’t restore flow. They just delay damp.
David prayed not for a patch-up but for renewal: ‘Create in me a clean heart . . . renew a right spirit within me’ (Psalm 51:10). That’s not maintenance. That’s reconstruction.
God doesn’t just want to stop the leak. He wants to clear the blockage. Restore the flow. And grow the fruit.
Not just behaviour modification. Transformation.
Life lessons from the leak
- If there’s no fruit, check the flow.
- If there’s no flow, check the root.
- Resetting isn’t renewing.
- Towels are no substitute for the Holy Spirit.
A prayer
Holy Spirit, I don’t want to live leaking, blocked and dry.
Where I am losing life, fill me.
Where I am blocked, cleanse me.
Where I am fruitless, root me again in Christ.
I don’t want towels, I want rivers.
Fill me today . . . because I leak.
Amen.
And if something is dripping in your life – quietly, steadily, persistently – don’t just soak it up. Stay rooted. Get filled. Let the river flow. Because the Christian life isn’t about trying harder. It’s about abiding deeper.
Grace and peace,
J.John
