The Threat of Y2K

In 1999, I was genuinely excited—and deeply concerned—about the possibility of a worldwide collapse of the “world as we knew it.” I had completely bought into the Y2K theory that computers would fail because they were programmed using only two digits for the year. When the calendar rolled from 1999 to 2000, the fear was that the “2” in 2000 would cause systems everywhere to crash.

For months, our congregation prepared. We converted our homes to propane, outfitting them with Amish lights, heaters, and even refrigerators. We erected tall masts so our battery-powered CB radios could communicate with one another. We planted gardens, learned to can and preserve food, stocked up months’ worth of necessities, and kept guns and ammunition to protect what we had in case others were not as prepared.

We practiced with “non-electric weekends.” The congregation would gather at our log home in the woods, setting up tents in the backyard. We cooked and baked over open fires. We ground our own wheat and corn into flour and cornmeal, then baked warm cornbread and biscuits, spreading them with butter we churned from whole milk bought at a local dairy. Eggs came from our own chickens. I can still say, without exaggeration, that those meals were feasts we will never forget.

Those days were special. Even though Y2K never happened, they forged some of the deepest bonds of our lives. Many of those people remain our closest friends nearly three decades later. And some of the skills we learned during those final years of the twentieth century have proven invaluable.

But Why?

Still, one question has stayed with me all these years: Why did I feel so strongly about something that, in reality, was never going to happen? Saying “I felt led” can sound hollow, but I truly believed preparation was necessary. I thought Y2K was a legitimate threat, and I wanted the best for my family and our congregation.

On January 1, 2000, I’ll admit—I felt foolish. We had spent nearly two years anticipating chaos. I had built a hidden room in our home stocked with years’ worth of supplies and spent thousands of dollars converting our house to propane. The world didn’t collapse.

And yet, I wasn’t sorry.

I wasn’t sorry because I had led that congregation to prioritize not only physical safety, but also our ability to remain connected as a Christian family. We planned to share what we had. Each member was expected to contribute their skills for the good of the whole church. Some taught us how to grow vegetables; others taught us how to can tomatoes, green beans, and homemade soup. Some were experienced hunters. A few were simply encouragers. What a crew we were.

Is There a Biblical Connection?

Over the last 26 years, I’ve asked myself a weighty question: Does God ever ask us to prepare for something He knows will never happen? Does He ask us to say yes to a request He knows He will never require us to fulfill?

I believe the answer is yes.

The clearest example is Abraham. God asked him to be willing to sacrifice his son—knowing He would never require it. While this may not be the norm, Scripture shows us that God sometimes works this way.

Daniel and the three Hebrew children were willing to die for their faith. In the end, none of them did. But they were willing. We cannot assume God will always deliver us from the lions’ den or the fiery furnace. If obedience came with guaranteed protection, faith would require very little trust. Real faith produces real willingness—regardless of outcome.

When Jane and I were in college, we both felt that God might be calling us to the mission field. The impression was strong enough that we visited our campus pastor, Bob Burroughs. He listened carefully, talked us through prayer and discernment, and asked us to return in a couple of weeks.

During that time, the desire—the nudge we had both felt—completely disappeared.

When we told Bob what had happened, he smiled as though he already knew. “Sometimes,” he said, “God just wants you to be willing.”

We were willing. And because of that, God could trust us later with other callings—things He did intend for us to carry out.

A Practical Example

This past week, a snow and ice storm stranded us at home with no electricity, no heat, no internet, and no phone service. It’s incredible how tethered we are to infrastructure until it’s suddenly gone. It was cold. We couldn’t contact anyone. For several days, all connections to the outside world were cut off.

We were inconvenienced—but we weren’t desperate.

Others worried about us, but we were at peace. Why? Because we had prepared for something far worse 26 years ago. We knew how to keep food from spoiling, how to cook and stay warm without electricity, and how to function when systems fail. The emergency we trained for never came—but the training itself did not go to waste.

This is why God calls us to be ready. This is why He asks us to say yes—even when we may never be asked to follow through.

Abraham carried the wood for the sacrifice, though God never required the offering. In the same way, God may be preparing our hearts, minds, and bodies right now for a future we cannot yet see.

People laughed at us in 1999. They thought we’d lost our minds. But last week, as lantern light flickered against the walls of our home and we enjoyed a hot meal cooked without electricity, we didn’t hear the laughter anymore. We felt only gratitude—for preparation, for peace, and for a God who had been shaping us long before we knew why.

What is God preparing you for? You may not know until it arrives. But when it does, you won’t be sorry you trusted Him—even if, at the time, it felt like a fool’s errand.