As I Recall

Short Devotionals from a Long Career

 I Did 110 on the Road Home (1 Samuel 14:6-7)

 In Kansas, driver-learning permits are still issued to 14-year-olds. Everyone knows this is too young, but it was the tradition from farm communities; the wheat had to get to the elevator during harvest, and during the horse and wagon days 14 was quite mature. The concept did not migrate well to the internal combustion engine, but the agricultural lobby was nothing to argue with.

I bought a well-used Chevy Beretta for the younger son. It was old, cheap and disreputable, with bad paint and worn upholstery, but as a two-door hardtop it looked cool, sported a V-6 power plant and 5-on-the-floor manual shift. No automatic transmission for him; he was determined to run a clutch.

It took a few blood-curdling weeks to learn the transmission, but after the demon was exorcised he got the hang of it.

The car would go like gee-whiz. When I bought it, I had no idea it would perform as well as it did.

He and his brother both drove to high school on their own, in their own vehicles. It was a 10-mile highway trip one way, and during their respective 14th years I trained them both. We lived in a small town near Wichita, and every day that we went to school, the kid would drive: His car, his route, his school. He would pull into the parking lot, park it, shut it off, and hand me the keys. I would then take his car to work, and he would catch a ride home with Mom or Uncle or neighbor or equivalent.

In that way, each boy had about 300 sorties under his belt by the time the 15-year-old Restricted License was issued. With that, he could legally navigate to and from school on his own. The training approach I employed is not necessarily to be confused with safe or responsible, but it was the best I could do.

One day, after receiving the Restricted License, he showed up at home after school looking like the proverbial cat that ate the canary. I happened to be home early from work that day. “Hey, what’s up?” I greeted him.

He paused and gave me a strange look, a smile involuntarily forming at the corners of his mouth. Quietly, he said, “I did a hundred and ten on the way home tonight.”

I held his eyes and commanded myself to remain calm. Slowly and deliberately, I enunciated the next words: “Don’t ever do that again,” I said calmly, then glanced away. “And if you do,” I added, “check the oil level and the tire pressure first.”

“Oil and tires?” he repeated.

I nodded. “Low oil will kill your engine,” I said. “Low tire pressure will kill you. Check both before you do that.” I stared at him. “But don’t do it. Now that you know the car is good for it, you have nothing left to prove.”

He smiled widely, no doubt relieved to avoid what would have been a major shouting session in some of his friends’ homes.

“I’ve got homework,” he said, and headed for his room. There was a slight swagger to his step.

Somehow, I never got around to telling him that, when I was his age, my Mini Cooper topped out at 105.

Theological Contemplations

One never really knows how to deal with misbehavior on the part of the teen child. He or she is flexing muscle, testing the limits, and needs a certain amount of freedom to learn where the ditches are. We only hope they learn the boundaries before serious damage sets in.

Most teen boys have no idea how to change a tire, hook up a tow chain, check the oil (or tires); let alone start the chainsaw or break down the shotgun. Do they need those life skills? Perhaps not, but there seems something righteous and holy about having the capability, even if unexercised.

The Old Testament Jonathan was accompanied by “the young man that bore his armor” (1 Samuel 14:6-7) when their two-man assault team attacked the Philistines on high ground. Jonathan said to his young armor-bearer, “Come, let’s go over to the outpost of those uncircumcised men. Perhaps the Lord will act in our behalf. Nothing can hinder the Lord from saving, whether by many or by few.” “Do all that you have in mind,” his armor-bearer said. “Go ahead; I am with you heart and soul.”

Only one of them was armed. The record shows that they both crawled up the steep slope on hands and knees, then Jonathan abruptly stood, drew his sword, and went on the attack.  The small contingent of surprised enemy troops fled before him, and the unnamed armor-bearer apparently picked up a discarded sword and dispatched those who had fallen.

It was clear that the armor-bearer knew how to use the weapon, even though it was not his day job.

It is best to have a working knowledge of the tools in your orbit. There may be a Philistine lurking. Or a low tire.