One Sunday afternoon after morning worship, I decided to run a few errands to get organized for my work week. After several stops, I noticed the warning light on my gas gauge was shining. Fortunately, a gas station was just down the street, and I pulled in at an open slot. As I began filling my truck, a loud voice from a nearby parking lot had everyone turning their heads.
A male voice intermittently shouted obscenities, though I could not see his exact location. It seemed to be coming from a liquor store, and though the problem he was having wasn’t clear to me, it seemed to be a matter of an unhappy customer expressing their displeasure at the price increase in a bottle of his favorite whisky.
Evidently, the alleged customer only had enough to purchase a bottle of scuppernong wine. It was hard to make out the dialogue clearly. Meanwhile, as the numbers on the pump whizzed around, I became more interested in keeping my eye on the location of that increasingly violent-sounding voice.
About half a tank later, the man appeared suddenly, snapped to attention about 30 feet behind my truck, and began to address me. He appeared to be far too young to wear an Army coat from the Korean War. Anyway, he outlined his impromptu plan to severely damage specific parts of my anatomy. Then he paused and spit in my direction—although I noticed he sprayed more on his chin and jacket than anywhere near me.
I maintained a blank stare, but I was planning. If I had to, perhaps a stream of gasoline to the eyes or face might slow an attack until I could think of something else. It was one of those I really don’t have time for this moments.
Then, just as quickly as he had appeared, he saluted me again, pivoted to the left, and marched away singing. I didn't recognize the song.
I was relieved; I HATE wasting gas! And at $2.29/gallon!
That night, I slept on this odd life event, wondering if I could learn anything from it.
This soldier was obviously not in control of himself.
But then . . . I thought about my life.
“Control” is a familiar topic in my life. Maybe you can relate. My issue seems to be inconsistent impulse control. I don't always do my best. I spent years trying to outwit life, jobs, finances, etc., convinced that if I didn’t get every detail right, the whole world would surely crumble. If anyone had opened a thesaurus to synonyms for “make-it-happen” and “I’ve no idea what I’m doing,” my smiling thumbs-up photo would have been there.
For all my best ideas, I controlled little in my life. Actually, little to nothing. Yet, I’ve wanted to control the outcome of my efforts since my earliest memories! Several years ago, I watched a 35mm home movie of my Dad and me turning the handle on an old manual crank-type ice cream maker. My Dad attempted to finish freezing it, but I insisted on ‘helping.’ I wanted to show that I could do it. He let me keep my hands on his. As the handle became harder to turn, I held on ever tighter—determined to control the outcome.
Dad had his hand on the main part of the crank, and at one point, he actually punched me in the face (not on purpose) as the big metal handle came around. The truth is, he let his hand push my face while shielding me from bare steel. But did I let go of that handle? No way.
Humans maintain a façade of ‘I’ve got this,’ only to confess in the next breath, “I need to get my act together.” But both are dangerous strategies. From a man with plenty of experience, I recommend a controlled approach with a proven record of success:
Psalm 46:10, in the original Hebrew, is translated into English as "Be still and know that I am God." However, it contains the command, “Let go of control” (lit. “release your hands [from the plow]”) and “experience” that I AM (in complete control).”
A New Testament passage explains it another way: “Everything began in him and finds its purpose in Him. He was there before any of it came into existence, and He holds it all together right up to this moment.” (Col 1:15-20)
Wiser now, my job in life is to do whatever God asks of me and leave the controls, or the “finishing of the homemade ice cream,” to the One who will shield me from an unseen hazard that will harm or destroy me. And he knows perfectly how to make what I long to taste—what everyone delights in. He is the great Dad who always wanted me to trust him completely since the moment He first thought of me.
© March, 2019 mypericope.com
Comments