At that time Jesus said, “I praise you, Father . . .” (Matthew 11:25)
I was sitting in a Sunday service recently listening to my pastor talk about the importance of staying close to God, and my mind started comparing my spiritual walk lately to a car that just won’t start. The picture came so clearly I had to pull out my iPad right there and jot down the scenario before I lost it.
I pictured myself sitting in the driver’s seat, sliding the key into the ignition, and giving it a turn. At first, everything feels normal. The radio boots up, the dash lights glow, and the blower starts moving air around the cabin. But when I turn the key to the starting position, the starter engages and spins, but there is no ignition. I find myself gently pushing down on the accelerator, just hoping to catch a spark, but the engine never roars to life.
Instead of doing the most obvious thing—checking the fuel gauge—I start playing the part of master mechanic. Since the lights are on and the air is blowing, I convince myself the battery is just too weak to turn the engine over. I get in my other car, drive to the parts store, and buy a brand-new battery. I spend the time and the money to get it installed, but I get the same result. So, I head back for a starter motor.
While I’m working, I look down the street and see dozens of cars at the pumps of the corner station filling their tanks and wonder about the urgency that caused so many people to line up at the pumps. I never make the connection between those full tanks and my own bone-dry, unmovable car. Instead, I go back to checking the oil, unplugging my phone from the USB port, and eventually, I’m out there polishing the tires and changing the wiper blades. I’m doing everything but the one thing that actually makes the machine go.
Now I like to handle my own problems, but after days of frustration I finally decide to mention it to the Pastor, and he asks that one obvious question: “Are you sure you’ve got gas in the tank?”
We treat prayer like that gas can. We leave it sitting in the shed while we try to “service” our problems with busy-work, worry, and tire shine. We finally pour a few ounces of gasoline into the tank, and after only a little cranking, the engine fires up. Thrilled, we put on our seatbelts, back out of the driveway, and proceed to run our errands. By the time we’ve made our second stop, our minds have already shoved the car trouble and the solution out. In its place, we’re running through the pluses and minuses of various construction adhesives for a little project we’re working on.
After that purchase, we’re back in the car driving through the parking lot toward the exit when the engine sputters to a halt again. Almost immediately, we’re perplexed. What could have gone wrong this time? After a moment of reasoning, we determine it’s likely because we haven’t rotated the tires in the last year. Then in a moment of pure insight, I realize the height of my foolishness and think, “How dumb can I be?”
In Matthew 11:25, we read “At that time Jesus said” and He begins praising the Father—even though the context doesn’t show anyone asking Him a thing. He wasn’t treating the Father like an emergency roadside service or a few ounces of gasoline to get Him to the hardware store. He was in a conversation that never had a “Goodbye.” He stayed tethered to the Source, so He never had to sit in a quiet car wondering why the engine wouldn’t fire.
When you’re in constant fellowship, your tank never runs dry. The radio might be on and the air might be blowing, but you aren’t fooled by the noise. You know exactly where your power comes from. And when you stay in that conversation, the troubles of this life—the internet outages, the unexpected medical bills, or the relationships that need real repair—don’t feel like the end of the world. You’re fueled by the Truth, and that’s a source that never runs out.
I know I can fix most any tech issue because of my decades of experience and troubleshooting skills, but somehow that confidence has spilled over into thinking I can solve most any problem. The reality is nearly the opposite. I just don’t have the knowledge or wisdom to address all the concerns in my daily life. But somehow, in the whirling busyness of my mind, I discount the incomparable value of my relationship with God and the very real help He’s willing to give—so I don’t talk to Him.
This has proven to be a long-term problem, but I’ve decided to start with some short-term fixes. I’ve taken a Sharpie to the kitchen and written “PRAY” on the eggs in the carton. I’ve set up reminders every two hours to pop up on my phone asking me to seek God’s help. I even stuck a Post-it note on the instrument panel in my car. It reads: “Don’t forget—you need fuel.”
