That darned worrisome warning light

. . . and a lesson in (lack of) faith

I know that a Christian is not supposed to worry. Or fret. I know the verses where Jesus tells us not to worry about tomorrow.

But sometimes, I worry.

Like the other morning. I worried just two minutes after getting into my rental car. And I had good reason. Here’s the story:

Thursday night I spoke at a fundraising event in beautiful Oshkosh (b’Gosh!), Wisconsin. Had a blast.

But on Friday I was to speak to a group of ministry leaders starting at 10 AM and going until 3 PM . . . in Bloomington, MN. Hmmm. More than four hours from Oshkosh.

Which meant that after the banquet I needed to at least get to Wausau—90 minutes from Oshkosh—so I didn’t have to wake up tooooo early on Friday before driving the rest of the way to Bloomington.

No problem. Easy drive to Wausau, but the last few minutes were on a half lane of highway. Because of construction, they shoved the lane off the main road and I was dodging rumble strips and those big orange barrels which often found their way into what little road they gave us.

But I made it. Fine. Asleep at 10:30, up at 4:30 and on the road just after six in the morning. I’d be at the conference center in plenty of time.

Noooooo . . . .

But within two minutes of hopping on the road to Minnesota Friday morning, that “horseshoe” light popped up on the dashboard screen. My rental car wanted me to know, “Tire pressure is low.” Unfortunately, my car failed to tell me which tire, or how low the tire happened to be. Was it a big deal? Or nothing?

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Now before you tell me that little warning light is no big deal—that it is usually just a tire which is down a pound or two, I had reason for my angst. Because in one year—I think 2023—I had five flat tires in rental cars. Count ‘em, FIVE. I won’t explain all of them here, but I can tell you that not once did I ever know I ran over anything.

Once, when trying to make a flight, when pulling out of my hotel I found my tire at 12 pounds of pressure. No tires stores were yet open. So I drove through St. Louis interstates traffic, watching that little pressure number go from 12 to 13, back to 12, up to 13. I made it. Whew.

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So on this morning I pulled over. Did a walk around. All the tires looked decent. After five flats, I’m an expert, so I knew.

But that didn’t mean a tire was not going down. And I had three and a half hours in front of me.

And I needed to be at the Mt. Olivet Conference Center (a great place, by the way) on time. Forty people made the trip from as far away as North Dakota for the session I would teach. Nothing else. If I didn’t make it . . . ooof.

Decisions, decisions

I made a quick decision. I’d start driving and hope for the best. But the dashboard light was right in front of me. That stinkin’ horseshoe. The warning that my tire (or tires) was low. That I needed to fix it. But I couldn’t. Again, too early.

Funny, I drove right by the Mosinee Airport as I started my trip. And I was reminded of pulling out of that airport in a rental car last fall—a hybrid of some sort. And the car literally died on the interstate just after I left the airport. I had to nurse it back at about 15 MPH and get another car. What a great memory as I stared at that darned horseshoe.

When I stopped for gas at about 7:30 AM, I checked the tires again. Still okay.

Because I did not have 20-30 minutes for a tire store to check me in and go over my tires, I kept driving. Two and a half hours later, I was on the dirt road leading to the conference/retreat center. I made it.

All good?

Yet, the day wasn’t over. What if, like had happened before, I parked the car and then the tire slowly died on me? The worrier in me would not let go.

The good news? The training session was a blast. Great people, sharp questions, good insights. This bunch took my mind off my tire dilemma. Almost.

During lunch I went outside to recheck the tires. Still good. I finally began to feel better, but I had a 35 minute drive to the Minneapolis Airport after we wrapped up. I wasn’t out of the proverbial woods just yet.

Victory!

Once we finished in the afternoon, the moment of truth arrived. All I needed was for these tires to remain inflated for a few more minutes.

Yes, me and my four tires made it. When I handed the keys to the check-in agent, no doubt each tire winked at me, grinning at their ability to capture my attention for hours.

And you know what? When I turned the car in, I totally forgot to mention the tires were low. Of course, National Car Rental would figure it out. But I’m surprised that once I parked that car, my thinking had totally shifted from all that anxiety I carried throughout the day.

Go figure.

Lesson learned, or . . .

Right here, someone can tell me, “Worrying helps nothing, and this is why Jesus says worrying is wrong.” Fair, but I know that already.

Another someone can quote Mark Twain, who famously said, “I’ve had a lot of worries in my life, most of which never happened.” Good point. But I know this, too.

Honestly, my hope is that I’ve learned something from this experience. Maybe it’s that when the warning lights of life pop up on my dashboard, I won’t be so quick to obsess over them. Or, that I can trust God even in the flat tires. Because for every flat tire I had to deal with, I was always able to get a quick—and cheap—repair.

But there’s something else I can’t forget: Following Jesus doesn’t mean we have it all together. We still have our stuff to deal with. For me, it is moments like the one on Friday when I know to trust (whatever the outcome might be), but can’t shake that feeling that I’m about to let people down and wind up on the side of the road somewhere changing a tire.

You know the best thing we can do with our stuff? Other than giving it back to God, let’s share our battles with each other. Let’s be vulnerable enough to admit, we’re on a journey and we haven’t made it to the destination. Though at least my rental car arrived at the airport.

Because if we choose vulnerability, others with struggles realize, “I am not alone.”

And when we know we are not alone, we are more likely to encourage others to keep pushing forward, to continue growing stronger.

Oh, and I learned one more thing, too:

We need a law that says, “If a car has that stupid horseshow warning light, it must also tell us which tire and how low the tire actually IS.”

Ahh, no more worries. Well, maybe not . . . but I’m trying.