let go

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)

I flung up my hands, as if in surrender.

Surrender?

There are days when the lesson begins first thing in the morning and continues to day’s end.

Yes, only one lesson—all day.

That was today for me. I learned about surrender. And, a little about what comes after that.
____________________

In the wee hours of this morning, I pulled the clarinet out of the case. A cheaply made instrument, I had opted to make the repairs myself, instead of sending it to the instrument technician who usually handles them. The customer has no money to pay for a complete repair, so I suggested a lick and a promise, if it could be done.

The bent key needed only to be returned to its original location. I have a pair of key-bending pliers, made just for such occasions.

The slight torsion I applied to the metal key was enough to break the solder joint loose, and the entire piece was suddenly hanging by a thin piece of metal slag. I gasped. I laid the clarinet back into its case.

I went home—to sleep.

Surrender.
____________________

My friend walked into the store and sat down. He had nothing in his hands. He didn’t even look around at what was on the shelves or hanging on the walls. It was going to be one of those visits.

“People are asking me about the Lost Gospels. What do you know about them?”

It was a loaded question, leading to another and another, until finally we would speak once again about Saints versus saints and Grace versus works, and Confession versus confession.

My friend is a member of the Eastern Orthodox church. I am not. He knows what I believe. I know what he believes.

Point, meet counterpoint.

Finally, I asked him if we could switch places and he would argue the evangelical side, while I espoused the orthodox doctrine. He peered at me with a quizzical look on his face.

“Why would we do that?”

I explained that it made as much sense as each of us saying the same things we had said the last time he had been in for a visit. We are both evangelists for our respective faiths.

He was disappointed, but he conceded the wisdom and threw up his hands in mock surrender. We’re still friends.

It wasn’t exactly surrender, but more of a cease-fire—recognition of the stalemate.
____________________

The grandfather of a piano student, his resolve to await her lesson’s end in his truck beaten by the outside temperature, wandered behind my desk chair. I looked up and nodded, an action he took as an invitation to make conversation. It wasn’t, but I politely answered his remarks about the weather, with a couple of sympathetic statements of my own, quickly turning to my work once again.

He wasn’t done yet.

“Yep, it’s sure cold, but we really need some rain.”

I almost snorted. It’s January! It doesn’t rain in January! I was smart enough to keep my mouth shut, but he wouldn’t let it go.

“I’m serious! The lake is down four feet!”

It really wasn’t something I was going to argue about. I just nodded my head and made a noise that could have either been a wise hmmmm of understanding or just me clearing my throat. One way or the other, I hoped he would move to a different subject.

He still wasn’t done.

“We really have to have some rain soon or we’ll be in real trouble!”

I’m not sure what made me do it. I think I just needed to concentrate on the project I was struggling with, so I simply asked the question that had been flitting around in my head from his first complaint about the weather.

Turning around to face him, I put my hand under my chin and asked, quite seriously, “What do you think we should do about the problem?”

He sat, motionless. Then he spoke.

“Well, I supp…” He looked right at me and said it, “I guess we’ll just have to leave it to the Good Lord, won’t we?”

His hands went up in the air as he gave up ownership of the weather to the only One who could ever possibly control it. (Matthew 5:45)

For some reason, he didn’t want to talk to me anymore. I really didn’t mean to be rude. But, sometimes, you just have to quit beating your head against that solid wall in front of you and admit that there is nothing to be done about it.

Surrender.
____________________

She brought her guitar in last week for me to examine. Thought she only needed to have the neck adjusted. It turns out that the way she plays has worn the metal frets on the fingerboard almost all the way through. Three years old, the guitar is. Frets usually last thirty or forty years for most people.

She came to pick up the guitar today after I worked my magic on the frets, leveling and re-crowning them. I was prepared to rail on her about the way she plays the instrument, but I thought better of it. It’s her guitar; she can play it however she wants.

As she checked over my handiwork, I told her, “This is the only time we’ll be able to fix the problem this way. The next time, either you have to get a new guitar, or the frets will have to be replaced completely.”

She seemed sad. Momentarily, her hands started up into the air as the words I had said took effect. It was only a moment and her hands returned to pluck the strings tenderly. Then she looked at me and smiled.

“I bought it to play music. I’ll keep playing it ’til the music is done.”

Surrender. Plus resolve.
_____________________

And, the Teacher said, “Which of you, by worrying about it, can add a single hour to your life?” (Luke 12:25)

I’m with the young lady. I’m here to play music. I think I’ll keep playing ’til the music is done.

How about it? You want to play a verse or two with me?

The day is coming when the music will be silent, but it’s not today.

Let’s play on.

You can throw your hands up in the air while the music’s going, too.

Allow yourself to let go, surrender, and breathe in the beautiful world that is waiting for you just outside your comfort zone.
(Leigh Hershkovich ~ American writer)

Music expresses that which cannot be said and on which it is impossible to be silent.
(Victor Hugo ~ French novelist ~ 1802-1885)

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He's Taken Leave

Random wanderings with Paul Phillips

I Give Up/At the Car Wash

‘Til the Music is Done