How's your tank?

Dear Friend,

I'm not sure when it happened, or why. But at some point, The Captain-- at five or six years old, mind you-- became hyper focused on running out of gas. The following was an actual conversation:

Mom, Dad I've noticed the tank is running low. I'm not going to be with you on the way home. Remember I'm staying at Grandma and Grandpa's. You might want to get gas now, while I'm in the car, so you don't forget.

After that, we began to have serious conversations about the difference between child worries and Mom and Dad worries. I'm not sure it ever took. The thing is, at that point in his life, I'd never run out of gas with him in the car. So I have no idea where he even came up with the worry to begin with. But he knew the gauge was there, and it was to be taken seriously.

Maybe that's the problem with you and I. There is no gauge. There is nothing that says, "your tank is running dry." No bell that dings. No light that comes on. It just happens. Spiritually. Emotionally. Psychologically. And when the tank is dry, you're going to find yourself stranded, and at the mercy of passersby. I hope it doesn't come to that. Do you wonder what it would be like if we, inside the Body, took as much effort and focus and energy for care-- as individuals and as a body-- as an athlete does? Think about the hours and intentionality that go into aftercare.

We act like we can run the tank dry, fill it ever so slightly, and move on. Do you know how that works for an automobile? Not well. Because as the tank is running dry, the fuel pump sucks up all the pollutants and contaminants and dirt and grime that should not be present, and sends it through the rest of the system, where it does real damage, as the system is designed for clean fuel. Yes, there is a filter, but there is no way that the filter can prevent all that from passing by-- the volume is just too great. Your life is no different. As you are running into dryness, all the dirt and the grime and the sickness and the sadness and the sin that is in you get pumped out in places that are otherwise intended to function on the clean fuel of love. And the filter of grace that would otherwise mute the damage? It has been damaged by the failure of regular repairs.

There is a simple remedy. Can we agree that self care is not selfish? Can we speak to one another about what fills up our tanks? Can we talk in terms that suggest that sometimes one of us will need to shift or move so that the other can be filled-- simply humbly allowing an agenda that God and I can live with, even though it is not something I would choose. I don't know. Because it surely seems that we've made an industry of martyrdom, and we celebrate the dry well of the Christian servant's soul. Strange, then, isn't it, that when God becomes incarnate, that this Jesus so often goes away-- retreats, as you will-- to fill up his tank. If you've got a better model, great. But I think that guy knew what he was doing. And still does.

thus spake,

me