Recently, my car developed electrical problems. As with most cars today, it has power windows, which are great—when they work! What happened is that one of the windows went spontaneously down, and wouldn’t come back up! Not knowing any better, I tried to pull it up—it wouldn’t budge. So I tried harder–using needle-nosed pliers. You know what happened: the tempered glass did exactly what it’s designed to do when subjected to just the right amount of stress: it shattered.
Fortunately, such mishaps are covered by my insurance policy. In the meantime, my son helped me tape on some cardboard and a plastic kitchen garbage bag. It’s so chic! Not really. It’s times like this when I wish there were a manual override for the windows, but of course there isn’t. And if I could take back my decision to force the window up, I would—but can’t. What’s done is done. Quod scripsi scripsi.
When it happened again with another window, I was done, and—to put it mildly—rather peeved. I went through the whole “why me, why this, why now” thing—mostly because I was driving home in the desert heat, and the little AC just couldn’t keep up. Seriously, the Navajo name for where I live (Phoenix), Hoozdo, means “the place is hot.” Again, I wished for the manual override. Was there no way to get this other window back up? I know, I know, such a first world problem, right? I need to be thankful that I have a car, and an air conditioned home, etc.
But it was just so darn cathartic to follow the troubleshooting steps outlined on the various Scion forums: “slam the door while holding the power window button in the up position, and it may force the motor to engage.” So I did—repeatedly! So hard, in fact, that I set off the alarm in my wife’s car. And it didn’t work. So it will be off to the repair shop I go. And the cost won’t be measured solely in dollars, but in blood, sweat, and tears as well (yes, I injured myself during my catharsis—mea culpa).
Of the things I’m thankful for with regards to this car problem, is that my garage is now halfway cleaned out—to accommodate my car! I don’t want to over-spiritualize things, but perhaps this auto mishap is God’s way of telling me to get on the stick, clean things up? Could be.
At least I choose to see it that way. Cliché, but nevertheless true: lemons are a prerequisite for lemonade (and, no, until now my car has not been a “lemon”). And I supposed there’s a lesson in here somewhere about the stresses God subjects us to—for His glory, and our benefit—but I’ll let you work that out for yourself.
Where have you had a Romans 8:28 moment in your life? Where you thought things were going wrong, but it all came out alright?