Exercising trust little by little that Christ is alongside to help, the Jesus-follower grows resolved. He has gotten serious about seeing a turnaround in his life. But the parade of things needing turned around is long. He feels at times like a mechanic lacking tools.
A friend of mine traversing a long stretch of Uganda’s backcountry heard a loud and sudden ‘Pop’ toward the rear of his Peugeot. His heart sank as the tell-tale quivering of the steering wheel vibrated in his hands. “Oh boy,” he moaned, “a flat”. A troubled whisper then followed, “and here I am with no jack”.
Standing on the dusty roadway he surveyed the landscape. No sign of help.
A seeker after God offers an appeal, “Lord, change needs to happen here”. He names a vice or a struggle or perhaps a habit of negligence. “And so”, he prays further, “would you heal this or remove that or deliver me from the other thing there.”
Such an approach in prayer is admirable as far as it goes. The determined believer is getting specific. He aims to partner with the most helpful being in all the cosmos.
But the parade of obstacles is long, the struggles many. In time, weariness sets in. Discouragement follows and the sincere but beleaguered faith-pilgrim begins asking why? He concludes that life transformation that the scriptures promise may forever remain out of reach. A flourishing life of rest and joy in God to which he had once aspired has now taken on the look of a lifeless mirage hovering at the desert’s surface.
The struggling believer’s musings are not entirely off. Seeing marked change and growth in one’s life for the good does not typically come, for instance, by voicing bold claims through gritted teeth. Enduring transformation can’t come by merely working on habits or struggles as they pop up, only to see them pop up again, then yet again. Not apart from some useful means. A few tools of the trade kept within easy reach can prove game-changers.
A distinct stirring sounded from a grove of bushes lining the remote Uganda road. Smiling a greeting to the young African males approaching, he was soon directing them to a strategic spot along the car’s edge. A few “heave-ho’s” followed by a sustained rumble of soft gruntings from the sturdy youth, soon yielded a freshly-mounted spare tire. Hard candies conveniently kept in the missionary’s console got dispensed. Laughter ensued, and with an arm-wave of thanks my friend drove off.
©2022 Jerry Lout