8.25.6
Yesterday, after completing some phone inquires and a fairly certain mechanical diagnosis, I rode along while Jan and Pat took care of some personal business and bought the parts needed for my car. Likelihood suggests a bad fuel pump— something that used to be easy to change on the side of the engine. However, in modern fuel-injected vehicles, even a cheap one like mine, the fuel pump is located inside the gas tank!
No matter how high a car is jacked up, working below still makes for a claustrophobic arrangement. More than once I’ve questioned the wisdom of my do-it-yourself optimism. Took the whole day today just to remove the gas tank, take it apart, and get it cleaned up. I’m happy to report that in spite of frustrations, I have retained (thus far) all the skin on my knuckles. Tomorrow I hope to replace the pump and paint the tank; perhaps on the day after I can put it all back together and celebrate by driving into town and using broadband at the library! There is a 1% chance that the culprit is a fuel pump control relay, the location of which is a mystery even to automotive experts.
I have the unmistakable impression that God wanted me to come to this farm, and has made sure that I have enough trouble with my car to be here long enough to get the message, the point, or some mission accomplished. I say unmistakable, because it has happened before: Once, I spent a miserable day hitch-hiking only getting 20 miles. Finally at dusk, an 88 year old man on his way to church picked me up. He wasn’t going far and normally I never accept short rides, but I was sick of where I was standing and ready for any change of view. The old fellow told me that he had never given anyone a ride before, but this time God *told* him to pick me up. A few minutes later, we came to an overpass that was being rebuilt. The right lane was closed and half the bridge was out. The old man drove between the barriers and into the right lane. I said “Bridge is out!”. He said ‘Oh.’ started to turn back into traffic. “Truck coming!” I warned. He stopped and gathered himself, then drove on when it was safe. I’m sure I saved his life. I felt I’d been sent. From that moment on, I got one ride after another all the way home.
Another time on an RV trip from MI to TX, I experienced an amazing number of calamities: a gust of wind blew out my side window; a big storm opened my awning while moving and wrecked it; then a rear tire blew just past a sign that read “next exit 17 miles”; and just when I thought I’d seen it all, the transmission in my RV broke away from the engine. How likely is that? Took me 2 days looking for a mechanic— eventually an Arkansas trooper told me about his, but I had to wait 4 days until the guy had an open slot. Finally on the last day there as the mechanic was finishing, his 7 year old son was dropped off by his mom with orders to study. He told me he tried hard in school, but wasn’t very smart. Mom said if he studied for 5 minutes, he could tell me about wrestling— which he did; he knew the names of all the wrestling heroes and their favorite moves. After another 5 minutes of spelling, he took a break and told me all about the arch enemies of his wrestling heroes. After another 5 minutes of memorization, he pulled out a U.S. map and showed me the hometowns of all his wrestling heroes. When he started to study again, I told him there was a big difference between learning something you don’t like and something you do. He asked what I meant and I offered that the kids who do well in spelling like spelling, and that if they had a class in wrestling he would get an A+ without even trying. His eyes lit. I also suggested he was going to be pretty good at geography. During his next break I showed him the legend.
When the little guy’s ma came back he ran to her with the map and told her all about the capitol cities, the names of highways and counties, and how to find out the number of people in a town. She picked up the spelling list and tested him on a couple of words— then he said it: “you know Mom, I don’t think I’m such a dumb kid after all”.
I had to look away.
A few minutes later, I was back on the road again without further difficulties. It all seemed worth it. Similar detours have occurred. Am I just making the best of it? Sure! But the coincidences are also extraordinary enough for me to want to believe in something better. And I’m the one that matters. Even the best of my plans are frequented by fickle and whim, and I confess that I don’t always get to know why. However, I do know when I’m swimming against the current and have learned to look around for what’s good.
