Last year, I bought a 1987 Thunderbird Sport. I found it in central North Carolina owned by the proverbial "little old lady." I had owned a Thunderbird 25 years earlier and, remembering it fondly, had been looking for another one for many years. My new find had only 85,000 on the odometer and looked to be in very good shape. Of course, blinded by the desire to have the car, I didn't notice some issues that would come back to haunt me.
In the past year, I've replaced the tires, part of the exhaust system, several sensors, front and rear brakes, rear bearings and sundries. There are few leaks here and there, and, most significantly, the transmission is starting to slip. The price tag on the latter is $3000, so instead of having it rebuilt, I just turn up the radio (there's just a radio, no cassette or CD player) and pretend I don't hear the noise. As my father said to me the other day on the phone with wisdom not heard since King Solomon: "Well son, it seems that you stepped in a pile of shit with that car." Thanks, Pop.
Two nights ago, I was driving home and the oil pressure dropped to zero. If we can compare car oil to human blood in the body, then an oil pressure of zero is the equivalent of a dead person. Warning bells went off in the car, and I was thinking, "What the...?" Almost immediately, the pressure went back to normal. Then it dropped again. I decided to pull over: with zero oil pressure, you have about 30 seconds to shut off the car before the engine blows. I checked the oil, looked around, everything seemed to be fine. I started it up and the pressure held. I prayed that I would just make it home and I did. I pulled the car into the garage, shut it off and just walked away. In the prior 15 minutes, I had experienced extreme panic, fear, frustration, relief, gratitude, and hatred. Have you driven a Ford, lately?
But with dinner in me and after watching a soothing round of 'Jeopardy' I considered the night's events more soberly. I reflected mostly on my frustration with the car over the past year...and my anger at it. Or maybe my anger was really directed at God. As a Calvinist, I believe that God is sovereign and all events - I mean ALL of them - have been orchestrated by God. If he has ordained these things to happen, then they must ultimately be for my good, to mold my heart to love him more, to shape me into the image of his Son. If that is the case - and I believe it is - then when life's events elicit anger from me, then I'm really angry at God. And in that anger, I don't learn; I take two steps back in my faith, not one step forward. Anger is an expression of wanting my will over His. Something I've known intellectually, but often forget in the heat of the moment.
And while I don't want to over spiritualize this, I'm better off if I see my car as a reflection of me and my relationship with God. How often do I breakdown, malfunction, not do what my owner expects of me. All the time. Yet, God does not get angry or frustrated or want to dump me at the human junkyard. He expresses patience and grace with me. He fixes me...in theological terms, he redeems me from my moments of weakness, malfunction, and sin; he is sanctifying me. My car can't sin (although it sure feels like it sometimes), but it has weaknesses and it breaks down. My job is to fix it and make it work again. As human beings, we are to reflect God in all that we do. We should act like redeeming agents. I think that instead of getting angry at my car, it will help my spiritual state if I consider it like myself: something that needs fixing, something that needs patience, something that needs care.
If I can keep this perspective, I may be able to express more gratitude to my God who does the same for me.
No comments:
Post a Comment