I’ve driven from Florida to California more times than I can count.
Long stretches of I-10 can get lonely.
Miles of nothing. No traffic. No billboards. Just road and horizon.
And then, in the middle of all that emptiness, one sign appears — not an advertisement, not a promise — a warning:
“Last gas station for 100 miles.”
That’s the moment you stop assuming and start checking.
Not because you’re afraid — but because the conditions have changed.
The road is long, the night is coming, and there may not be another chance to prepare the way you’ve been preparing.
The sign doesn’t ask how many times you’ve driven this road before.
It doesn’t care how confident you feel.
It asks one question: Do you have enough to make it home?
That question isn’t new.
Jesus framed it differently, but the meaning was the same.
In the parable of the ten virgins, everyone had a lamp. Everyone expected the bridegroom. Everyone started the night the same way.
The difference wasn’t belief.
The difference was oil.
The foolish virgins weren’t reckless.
They weren’t immoral.
They weren’t hostile to the bridegroom.
They were confident.
Confident the delay wouldn’t be long.
Confident their lamps would last.
Confident they could deal with the shortage later.
Some people forget how to read the signs.
Others learn to ignore them.
And some say, “I’ve traveled this road a thousand times. I can make it.”
Familiarity has a way of feeling like preparation — right up until it isn’t.
The problem wasn’t that the door closed suddenly.
The problem was that it closed finally.
Oil couldn’t be borrowed once the moment arrived.
Readiness couldn’t be outsourced.
What wasn’t carried beforehand couldn’t be supplied at the last minute.
That’s what makes the warning kind, not cruel.
“Last gas station for 100 miles” doesn’t say you’re doomed.
It says you’re responsible.
Check what you’re carrying.
Check what you’re relying on.
Check whether what sustained you before is enough for what’s ahead.
So here’s the question the sign leaves you with:
Do you have enough gas in the tank to make it home?
Because when there are no more exits, no more shortcuts, and no one left to borrow from, the only thing that carries you forward is what you’ve already taken in and made your own.
Scripture was never meant to decorate the journey.
It was meant to carry you through it.
“And those who were ready went in with him… and the door was shut.” — Matthew 25:10
Pay attention to the signs.
Don’t let your tank run empty.
I’m Wayne – and that’s my world view. What’s yours?
