Sunday Drive. Car Wash

Sometimes the most important things in life to learn come from the most simple circumstances. Sometimes the hardest things to learn are the easiest. Sometimes it's right in front of our faces.

I've refused to clean my truck for 2 months now. Not out of any real rebellion. Just because I was busy doing other things like drinking coffee, reading books, running and finding anything else to keep my mind off the knowledge that I had that no one else was going to clean it for me.

Laziness can be the coziest of friends.

Driving home this afternoon from church and lunch I noticed my engine light was on. Nothing new. It's been flashing since June. And every day when I get in the car I notice it. And every day I say to myself, wow, that light came back on. I really need to get that thing fixed. And I look around inside and notice the papers climbing up on the passenger's seat. And the books piling up in the tiny backseat area (it's a Tacoma). Entering and leaving each time, I also tell myself, yep...maybe I should go clean this thing. Don't want it to start to rust. Oxidation bugs me. Love the look of a clean car.

But every day for the past month I find a way to put off those things with excuses or just plain forgetfulness. Nothing huge. Nothing life or death.

And I'm starting to realize something as I pull in to get gas. And that something is really similar to what I've read in John Eldredge's book "Walking with God". Like he said about his truck, maybe there's something deeper at play than forgetfulness.

Could it be that I just don't want to find something really wrong with it? I mean, I love this truck. It's my heart. My broken heart it seems. The speakers, I find recently, are the latest thing to go. That's why I listen to my Ipod instead.

I think this warning light and the clutter are me giving up, refusing to address the larger issue with this thing...that I'm slowly losing the newness of it...the companionship I've had with it for a long long time.

And I've let those responsibilities go, not because I am a loser (which I probably am anyway for doing that) but because I really am anxious that the mechanic will tell me it's on it's last leg...to expect to be on the buyer's market soon.

You see, it's not the problem that I don't wanted fixed...it's the larger issue underneath that bugs me. It throws me from here, making me uncomfortable with what I might find. And that, my dear friend, is just exactly how I handle other areas of my life that actually matter.

So I pull into an automated carwash after I fill up with gas and am refreshed with the feeling of clean. It must be an OCD thing, but I absolutely LOVE automated carwashes. They do so much for the soul. If you turn on a good tune, and watch patiently at the water as it sweeps across your windows and at the brushes as they wipe the grime and filth away...it feels almost that you're getting a second chance. It's a lesson in mercy, I'm convinced.

But I do digress...

I dodge and turn at the very things in my life the same way I do with that freakin warning light on my truck. When the very thing that I need to do is go in for a checkup...for a tune-up...for a filling of my fluids.

But like the truck, I fear sometimes that when I do go to God that he'll find all the other things scattered across the innermost room of my heart, and end up rearranging the whole deal. Uncomfortable at times.

Chances are I just need an oil change. And so I've scheduled that for tomorrow, come rain or shine. And I'm going to go through with it, regardless of how nervous it makes me feel about the possibility of finding other things wrong with it than just oil.

And so I pray to the Father to come inside and walk around, even though the thought of it at times seems invasive. What will he think when he sees this thing here. Or will he ask me to give that up too?

The lovely feeling of leaving the carwash and driving through the heavy dryer...how I like that. It's like....yep...uh huh... that was nice. Wish I could do that all over again. For whatever reason, that moment in the carwash feels like a good massage. Moments before, I anticipated it all when I typed in my validation code.

What in the world would it be like to get to the point where I anticipated God's presence in my life, deep inside, where words cannot express and thoughts could not convey? What would it be like to pant with baited breathe, with a longing reserved for his angels, at the chance of meeting with him...and the anticipation of his healing hand and protective, massive wings to shadow the craters that scar my soul?

just a thought.

I'm done writing now...