With a belly full of fish-fried chicken and biscuits, I went home discouraged but hopeful. How hard could it be to get a turn-signal fixed? I asked some of my more mechanically-inclined friends, who informed me that the bulb probably just needs to be replaced. Really? I didn't even know cars used bulbs! So as soon as I got home, I went and unscrewed the light bulb in my room and put it in my car. (Just kidding. I knew you had to get a special car bulb for cars, silly.) I was more determined than ever; I was going to change that bulb and drive that dang Lumina right back to the DMV and ace that test! And there wasn't nothing nobody could do to stop me!
A trip to Pep Boys and several hours later, I discovered that either changing a bulb on a car is a lot harder than changing a bulb in a house, or the bulb wasn't the problem. With the help of Zeke D'Avy and Chad Brown, I eventually figured out it was the latter. I called Charles and told him the problem. He took it to his mechanic. A few days later he called me:
Charles: I got some bad news about the car.
Me: What's that?
Charles: It's gonna cost exactly 1 arm and 1 leg to fix the dang thing.
Me: What?! An arm and a leg? I thought that was just a figure of speech!
Charles: Nope.
Me: That's a steep price, just to fix a blinker.
Charles: Listen, I'm willing to spot you an arm if you can come up with the leg.
Me: Meh.
Since we didn't want to fix it, and since it didn't seem like a good idea to drive around with no back left turn-signal (have you ever tried using the hand signals? It feels really stupid for some reason), we decided to just sell the car.
To be completely sincere for a moment, I felt like giving up at this point. Yeah, I get an "F" for Perseverance 101, I know. But I was so annoyed with the whole situation, and I just started to think it wasn't really worth it. The gas money, the insurance money, the have-to-fix-stuff-before-you-even-officially-own-the-freakin'-thing money. In fact, have you ever considered the undeniable, historical truth that 99.98% of the greatest people in the history of the world never owned a car or had a driver's license? Seriously. Moses, Gandhi, the Buddha, Jesus, the list goes on. I just wanted to be like Jesus.
As it turns out though, it's too late for me to give up now. (Sorry Jesus, but I'm going to have to trump you on this one.) Over the last few months, I've learned the truth of what Charles told me all those years ago. Whether I realize it or not, whether I admit it or not, I will probably never feel like a mature adult male in my society until I get that driver's license. Besides that, I've learned over the years to value the act of carrying out a goal to it's completion. When we give up, even though it may seem like the wise thing to do in the moment, we lose something. We can become habitual giver-uppers, who can never quite seem to finish a task. Well I don't want to be a giver-upper anymore, and I'm going to keep trying until I have that license in my hand, if for no other reason than my own dignity and self-respect.
And as always, the moral of the story: stay in school, kids!
P. S. I'm going to try to take the test again this Thursday. Pray for me. = )
Friday, March 26, 2010
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Adventures in Learning to Drive, Part I
I think I'm approximately 27 years old. (I'm pretty sure. But I really do forget sometimes. So let's just go with 27, give or take a year). Anyway, I'm somewhere between the ages of 26 and 28, and I don't have a driver's license. That's the point I'm getting at.
I recently embarked on a journey to obtain one of these things. And by recently I mean about 5 years ago. I want to tell you the story of this journey, but before I do, I should tell you some of the steps that led up to it.
If, as you and I have so far assumed, I am indeed most probably 27 years old, that means I am 11 years past the age at which most people get their licenses. The reason most people get their licenses at 16 is because that is the earliest age allowed by law, and most people want their license at the earliest possible age they can have it. This was not the case with me.
Call it weird, but I just didn't have that itch. Call it fear, more accurately. The thought of driving scared the piss out of me, which is a terrible thing to happen to you while you're driving because there isn't much you can do about it. Everyone seems to think a guy should drive a car so he can take girls on dates, but if you pee your pants on the way to pick her up, it automatically negates all other potential benefits.
What kept me from driving wasn't just the thought of my rampant absent-mindedness resulting in the death of one or more other human beings, including-but-not-limited-to myself. That was part of it, but I was also a very inert adolescent. I didn't do things that I didn't feel like doing, and most things happened to fall into that category of "Things I Don't Feel Like Doing."
I finished high school with no license. I entered college with no license. Didn't want one, didn't need one, didn't care. Charles Gravely and I had some conversations that went like this:
Charles: Ken, I think you should try to get your driver's license.
Me: Meh.
Charles: Seriously Ken, as your brother in Christ and as someone who you trust to challenge you and encourage you toward spiritual maturity, I think getting your driver's license would be an important step. It's like a rite of passage in our culture.
Me: I definitely see your point . . . but . . . meh.
Charles's prodding must've been somewhat effective though because a few summers later, I started learning how to drive. I drove my friend's truck, stick shift and all, up and down a long gravel road a few times and I thought I was ready. So then I went and took the test in my mom's van, and I failed. I kept turning into other lanes of traffic. The instructor was really friendly at first, so I thought I was doing well. She preceded to ask me kindly if I was nervous, and when I replied, "very," Satan entered her and she barked, "WELL YOU'RE ABOUT TO FAIL YOUR TEST!" And that would have helped me out a lot, except for the fact that it didn't.
She told me to turn left at the next light. So I put my left blinker on and waited for the light to turn green. When it did, I turned right. She said, "What are you doing? I told you to turn LEFT! Pull over into this parking lot. I'll drive us back to the DMV."
If my confidence could be compared to a baby bird in a jungle, fluttering it's little wings and hopping around on the ground, that experience was like a tree falling on top of the bird. And that instructor was the lumberjack that fell the freakin' thing. She fell the tree; she failed me.
So what do you do when you fall off a horse? Well, you get back on and try again, five years later. Charles Gravely (the same one I mentioned earlier) got married to another good friend of mine, Amanda J (btw, they have a blog, too). They recently decided to give me Amanda's old 1990 Chevy Lumina. Yes, you read that right, they GAVE it to me. They decided they didn't need the car, and though they very well could have sold it and used the money for their soon-coming stint as campus missionaries in Belgium, they determined in their godly, giant hearts to just bless me with it.
Before making it official though, we mutually agreed it would be best for me to obtain my license first. So, with my hand forced in the most gracious way, I got back on the horse. I got my permit renewed, and I started driving the Lumina everywhere. Most of the time I would get my licensed friends to ride shotgun, and on a few occasions I even drove it by myself (until Amanda found out one day and politely requested that I immediately cease and desist that particular habit).
For the first time in my life, I actually started to feel good about driving. I felt natural behind the wheel. Not to the point of arrogance; I just started to feel like I could react calmly and reasonably should something unexpected happen on the road. So, me and my most frequent traveling buddy, Lance Dunn, planned an excursion to the DMV. We went, waited for my number to be called, filled out the paper work, etc. I was a little nervous, but overall I had a pretty good feeling that I was about to finally get this thing over with. The instructor and I walked out to the car, and as she does the routine inspection of headlights and such, we discover, oops, my back left turn signal isn't working! I can't take the test!!!
I was overwhelmed with frustration and disappointment, but I felt better when Lance and I went to KFC and got some comfort food. I got a filet of fish, which actually tasted oddly similar to chicken, fried in fish fry. Oh well, meat is meat. I ate it, along with 3 biscuits and some potato wedges, washed it down with a Pepsi, then got up and ordered some fiery hot wings for dessert. Ah, much better.
So what happened next? And am I ever going to get my daggum license?!?! Hate to leave you on a cliffhanger, but I will answer those questions in the next installment, to be posted tomorrow. = )
I recently embarked on a journey to obtain one of these things. And by recently I mean about 5 years ago. I want to tell you the story of this journey, but before I do, I should tell you some of the steps that led up to it.
If, as you and I have so far assumed, I am indeed most probably 27 years old, that means I am 11 years past the age at which most people get their licenses. The reason most people get their licenses at 16 is because that is the earliest age allowed by law, and most people want their license at the earliest possible age they can have it. This was not the case with me.
Call it weird, but I just didn't have that itch. Call it fear, more accurately. The thought of driving scared the piss out of me, which is a terrible thing to happen to you while you're driving because there isn't much you can do about it. Everyone seems to think a guy should drive a car so he can take girls on dates, but if you pee your pants on the way to pick her up, it automatically negates all other potential benefits.
What kept me from driving wasn't just the thought of my rampant absent-mindedness resulting in the death of one or more other human beings, including-but-not-limited-to myself. That was part of it, but I was also a very inert adolescent. I didn't do things that I didn't feel like doing, and most things happened to fall into that category of "Things I Don't Feel Like Doing."
I finished high school with no license. I entered college with no license. Didn't want one, didn't need one, didn't care. Charles Gravely and I had some conversations that went like this:
Charles: Ken, I think you should try to get your driver's license.
Me: Meh.
Charles: Seriously Ken, as your brother in Christ and as someone who you trust to challenge you and encourage you toward spiritual maturity, I think getting your driver's license would be an important step. It's like a rite of passage in our culture.
Me: I definitely see your point . . . but . . . meh.
Charles's prodding must've been somewhat effective though because a few summers later, I started learning how to drive. I drove my friend's truck, stick shift and all, up and down a long gravel road a few times and I thought I was ready. So then I went and took the test in my mom's van, and I failed. I kept turning into other lanes of traffic. The instructor was really friendly at first, so I thought I was doing well. She preceded to ask me kindly if I was nervous, and when I replied, "very," Satan entered her and she barked, "WELL YOU'RE ABOUT TO FAIL YOUR TEST!" And that would have helped me out a lot, except for the fact that it didn't.
She told me to turn left at the next light. So I put my left blinker on and waited for the light to turn green. When it did, I turned right. She said, "What are you doing? I told you to turn LEFT! Pull over into this parking lot. I'll drive us back to the DMV."
If my confidence could be compared to a baby bird in a jungle, fluttering it's little wings and hopping around on the ground, that experience was like a tree falling on top of the bird. And that instructor was the lumberjack that fell the freakin' thing. She fell the tree; she failed me.
So what do you do when you fall off a horse? Well, you get back on and try again, five years later. Charles Gravely (the same one I mentioned earlier) got married to another good friend of mine, Amanda J (btw, they have a blog, too). They recently decided to give me Amanda's old 1990 Chevy Lumina. Yes, you read that right, they GAVE it to me. They decided they didn't need the car, and though they very well could have sold it and used the money for their soon-coming stint as campus missionaries in Belgium, they determined in their godly, giant hearts to just bless me with it.
Before making it official though, we mutually agreed it would be best for me to obtain my license first. So, with my hand forced in the most gracious way, I got back on the horse. I got my permit renewed, and I started driving the Lumina everywhere. Most of the time I would get my licensed friends to ride shotgun, and on a few occasions I even drove it by myself (until Amanda found out one day and politely requested that I immediately cease and desist that particular habit).
For the first time in my life, I actually started to feel good about driving. I felt natural behind the wheel. Not to the point of arrogance; I just started to feel like I could react calmly and reasonably should something unexpected happen on the road. So, me and my most frequent traveling buddy, Lance Dunn, planned an excursion to the DMV. We went, waited for my number to be called, filled out the paper work, etc. I was a little nervous, but overall I had a pretty good feeling that I was about to finally get this thing over with. The instructor and I walked out to the car, and as she does the routine inspection of headlights and such, we discover, oops, my back left turn signal isn't working! I can't take the test!!!
I was overwhelmed with frustration and disappointment, but I felt better when Lance and I went to KFC and got some comfort food. I got a filet of fish, which actually tasted oddly similar to chicken, fried in fish fry. Oh well, meat is meat. I ate it, along with 3 biscuits and some potato wedges, washed it down with a Pepsi, then got up and ordered some fiery hot wings for dessert. Ah, much better.
So what happened next? And am I ever going to get my daggum license?!?! Hate to leave you on a cliffhanger, but I will answer those questions in the next installment, to be posted tomorrow. = )
Monday, March 01, 2010
On Memorizing Scripture
I've been reading a book by Ed Dobson called The Year of Living Like Jesus (full review forthcoming at my book blog, kendlebooks.blogspot.com). Dobson, inspired by A. J. Jacobs and his Year of Living Biblically, decided to spend a year living as closely to the way Jesus lived as possible. He grows out his beard, observes Jewish customs, such as the Sabbath and the Passover, and tries to fully apply Jesus's teachings to his everyday life, among other things. Included in this project was lots of Scripture memorization, something Jesus surely would have done, just as any rabbi of his day was expected to. The book is inspiring me in several ways, including making me want to memorize Scripture.
What is the value of such a practice, you may ask? Well, I can think of many potential benefits, but I'll just say the one that has cropped up already as I've restarted this practice (I say restarted because I've done it a few times before. I've simply never been committed to it as regular and ongoing discipline). I decided to begin with the Beatitudes (Matthew 5:1-10) and work my up to the whole Sermon on the Mount (Chpts. 5-7 of Matthew). So today, I just kept reading those 10 verses quietly to myself until I could recite them from memory (which isn't that difficult with these particular verses, due to their poetic structure).
Now, it just so happens that lust has been a major struggle for me recently. I won't go into detail here, but I've just been having a lot of trouble keeping my thoughts in check. So as I kept repeating Jesus's words, the ones that really stuck out to me the most were, "Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God." At first, I wasn't quite sure why I was connecting with this verse the most, out of all the others, but it became obvious when I put 2 & 2 together. The living Word of God was speaking directly to me, the Double-Edged Sword cutting simultaneously into the lustful state of my mind and the rebellious state of my heart. Honestly, I may not have had that experience had I just read over the passage once and kept going.
And now I keep repeating these words, "Blessed are the pure in heart. For they will see God." I want to see God. And as I say these words, their force becomes almost tangible, like a breath of pure air, that I breathe right back in to myself. The temptations that I'm facing become weaker, and my desire for purity, stronger.
I'm definitely going to try to make Scripture memorization a long-term habit. I'll let you know where it takes me.
What is the value of such a practice, you may ask? Well, I can think of many potential benefits, but I'll just say the one that has cropped up already as I've restarted this practice (I say restarted because I've done it a few times before. I've simply never been committed to it as regular and ongoing discipline). I decided to begin with the Beatitudes (Matthew 5:1-10) and work my up to the whole Sermon on the Mount (Chpts. 5-7 of Matthew). So today, I just kept reading those 10 verses quietly to myself until I could recite them from memory (which isn't that difficult with these particular verses, due to their poetic structure).
Now, it just so happens that lust has been a major struggle for me recently. I won't go into detail here, but I've just been having a lot of trouble keeping my thoughts in check. So as I kept repeating Jesus's words, the ones that really stuck out to me the most were, "Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God." At first, I wasn't quite sure why I was connecting with this verse the most, out of all the others, but it became obvious when I put 2 & 2 together. The living Word of God was speaking directly to me, the Double-Edged Sword cutting simultaneously into the lustful state of my mind and the rebellious state of my heart. Honestly, I may not have had that experience had I just read over the passage once and kept going.
And now I keep repeating these words, "Blessed are the pure in heart. For they will see God." I want to see God. And as I say these words, their force becomes almost tangible, like a breath of pure air, that I breathe right back in to myself. The temptations that I'm facing become weaker, and my desire for purity, stronger.
I'm definitely going to try to make Scripture memorization a long-term habit. I'll let you know where it takes me.
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