Sometimes it’s just hard to give up control. Really hard.
I went to the car wash recently. It’s been a few years since I gave up fighting the trend and started running my car through the wash tunnel. For most of my life, I insisted on using the old-style quarter machines to do it myself. But, I’m getting old, and sitting in my car while it gets laundered seems a good idea now.
It took me a while. I didn’t want to give up on doing it myself. But, I always seemed to put off the job. It could be hard work. Sometimes, it was too cold outside. Or, too hot.
So, the car was almost always dirty.
And, I like clean. I do.
The vehicle in front of me entered through the member lane. That means they had already paid for unlimited washes and there was no need to wait for the attendant to help with payment. I assumed it also meant they were familiar with the process and would make no trouble for me or anyone else behind them.
Well? It seemed a reasonable expectation.
They made trouble.
There is a white line on the pavement as one approaches the entrance to the tunnel. Folks in the know understand one needs to line up their driver’s side front wheel on the painted stripe to be straight with the steel track inside.
The driver missed it by a foot.
After the attendant helped them get the vehicle straightened out, I was sure all would be well. My own wheel was sitting on the line now as I waited my turn.
The small pickup stopped where the attendant indicated. Next, he waved his hand at the sign sitting beside the track. The instructions should have been clear;
Put your car in neutral
Take hands off the steering wheel
Keep foot off the brake pedal
Do not open your window or turn on your wipers
The attendant walked toward me. I was next! I prepared to pull forward onto the track. But, it wasn’t to be.
Suddenly, he spun around and, racing back to the wall, slapped the big red button there. The emergency stop quickly brought the entire operation to a halt. Lights darkened, and the entire place went quiet—for a second. Then, he sprinted toward the pickup, yelling as he went.
That truck definitely wasn’t in neutral! It should have been sitting still, waiting for the conveyor to pull it along, but it was still moving under its own power toward the waiting brushes.
Brake lights went on, along with the cargo light above the truck’s bed as the driver opened his door to see what was happening.
They talked briefly and the truck’s door closed. The attendant walked back toward the big red button, shaking his head. Turning the safety release on the button, he pushed it again.
I breathed a sigh of relief. I’m sure he did, as well.
Too soon!
Both of us saw it at the same time. The conveyor had picked up the wheels of the truck and was pulling it forward, but suddenly, the backup lights shone from the rear of the vehicle!
Now, they were reversing!
Red button time again. More shouting and running. The cargo light came on again.
After the door slammed once more and the poor fellow trotted back to start the machinery up again, I waited—not as hopefully this time—to finally start through the wash myself.
There were no more delays. Still, the entire time I was being pulled through the wash tunnel, I kept my hand near the horn button—ready to blast away at that person who seemed to be reluctant to give up control of his/her vehicle to the process. I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw the exit ahead of me, with no sign of the truck blocking the way.
Why is it so hard for us to give up control?
From the dim, dark reaches of my brain, the anecdote emerges. I read it somewhere a lifetime ago. But, it stuck with me.
The old fellow was sitting patiently in the hallway, waiting for the ladies meeting at the church to finish. As the custodian, it was his job to set up (and later, take down) the tables and chairs for the refreshments, and he had done it without complaint, even when the requests and directives came fast and furious from more than one of the ladies.
The pastor stopped by where he sat waiting to clear up.
“You seem so calm, John. How do you do it?”
“Well Preacher,” John said, with a smile across his face, “I just put my brain into neutral and let them push me around wherever they want me.”
I laugh every time I think of the old fellow. Still, he knew what it took to accomplish what he came to do.
But, the driver of that vehicle in the car wash the other day? They needed to do one thing. Only one.
Relax.
That was it. Sit back and let go.
The result would be a gleaming, clean truck.
The driver’s way would have resulted in chaos. It very nearly did. And not only for him. Damaged machinery. No clean cars for anyone following behind. No work for the attendants while repairs were made. Loss to the insurance company, the driver, and the car wash.
Sit back. Let go.
Moses gave the same instructions to the folks following him out there in the desert all those years ago.
“‘The Lord himself will fight for you. Just stay calm.’” (Exodus 14:14, NLT)
The Children of Israel were afraid. They wanted to go back and give themselves up to that old, gritty life of slavery. But Moses suggested they go straight ahead, into the car wash.
No, really. A great big—terrifying—car wash. Right through the middle of the sea.
He said—in essence, “Sit back and let go. God’s got you.”
And, He did.
And, He does.
In the car wash. In the hurricane. In the wildfire. In the emergency room. In the hospice bed.
He’s fighting for us.
It’s hard to let Him. Hard.
I’m still learning to let go. Maybe you are, too.
But, I did learn to put my car in neutral and take my foot off the brake. I’m going to keep working on the rest of it.
Trusting Him, we learn to rest.
And, He cleans us up in the process.
I like clean. I do.
“Some people believe holding on and hanging in there are signs of great strength. However, there are times when it takes much more strength to know when to let go and then do it.”
(Ann Landers)
“But Moses told the people, ‘Don’t be afraid. Just stand still and watch the Lord rescue you today. The Egyptians you see today will never be seen again. The Lord himself will fight for you. Just stay calm.’” (Exodus 14:13-14, NLT)
© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2024. All Rights Reserved.