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Take - Rattled
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Rattled
Take
2 Tim 2:15
Be diligent to present yourself approved to God as a workman who does not need to be ashamed, accurately handling the word of truth. NASU
When God calls us to a work, part of taking His yoke is deciding to be diligent. Every calling has its own set of diligence agenda items. When I ran a software company, we had to be diligent about software process. As a mother, I had to be diligent about developing my children spiritually, setting boundaries, and knowing what was going on in my children’s lives. As a wife, I have to be diligent about making sure my husband knows he is a treasured gift from God. Presenting ourselves as approved workmen takes diligence. The trick to taking God’s yoke is knowing what to be diligent about.
When I used a car only to drive back and forth to work, I didn’t care about noises. I can remember riding peacefully in the passenger seat and Bob leaning forward, ear to the dashboard, urgently saying, “What’s that noise? Do you hear that? What is it? ”
I’d roll my eyes and tease him about what a big deal he made out of new whirs, rattles, squeaks, and clanks. Since I was pretty sure our marriage vows including something about him handling all mechanical issues, I expected my cars to start when I cranked them and had no idea how much diligence it took to keep them behaving.
Now, I drive alone almost 30,000 miles per year. I’ve learned that ignoring new sounds can spell disaster. Just recently, I identified a flapping sound as a flat tire. I know the sound of a healthy engine and generator, know what slipping belts sounds like, can identify a knocking engine, and know that hissing is never good. In short, I’ve learned to be diligent about listening to and responding to sounds.
I’ve also learned that diligence taken too far becomes paranoia. First, I’ll tell you about my hissing sound. I mentioned that I don’t like hissing. I don’t even like a cat hissing at me. I especially don’t like hissing coming from inside or outside an RV.
Sitting in the cab of my RV, I could hear hissing. I leaned forward and it didn’t seem to be coming from the engine. Then I started to panic. I wondered if LP gas hissed when it leaked. Quickly, I pulled over. I got out on the busy highway, climbed in the back of Halleluiah, and found the problem. The hissing was coming from Belle’s dog dish. I have a travel dish that holds both food and water. The water container has a plastic stopper that allows you to let as much water out as you wish. The stopper had lost its seal and poor Belle was having to drink water from a dog dish that was spitting at her. I suspect what was going on had something to do with the change in altitude. We had just entered the Rocky Mountains. I pushed the stopper back in the hole and all was right with our world.
Next, I want to tell you about the rattle. As I was driving down a bumpy highway in Colorado, the dashboard began to rattle. I’m talking about a loud high-pitched annoying rattle that was impossible to ignore.
I almost ran off the road as I leaned over to put my ear to the dashboard. The sound was radiating throughout the entire dashboard. I’d just had my tires filled and wondered if they’d over or under filled them. I had a vague memory of shocks squeaking and wondered if over or under filled tires could cause such a sound. While it sounded like the rattle was coming from the dashboard, I was aware that sound could radiate from anywhere.
One by one, I started testing the many toys, crosses, maps, animals, gadgets, pens, and hygiene items that are in all of the nooks and crannies of the fancy dashboard on Halleluiah. The Sojourners had given me a turtle, which sat happily on the dashboard. I checked him twice and he definitely wasn’t the culprit. Sure it was the GPS, I removed it from the dashboard. Wrong again. It wasn’t the hair brush, glasses, hand cream, atlas, cross dangling from the rearview mirror, the plug, or any of the phone equipment. Sure it was serious, I finally called Bob.
“Bob,” I said. “I have a new sound.”
“What does it sound like?” he asked.
“It is a high pitched rattle. It almost sounds like when that coffee cup that was rattling in the cupboard but this is coming from the dashboard. It also sounds a little like shocks squeaking but the pitch is higher. I’ve checked everything. I had no idea how many slots were on our dashboard. I’ve got quite a collection of stuff. I thought it was the turtle but it wasn’t.”
“What turtle?” he asked.
“The Sojourners gave me a glass turtle,” I said.
“Why?” he asked.
“It’s their mascot or something. Mr. Sojourner loves turtles. Remember that story about the tortoise and the hare? The tortoise won the race. Anyway, I’ve got a really cute turtle on my dashboard and I feel guilty for blaming him.”
“Cheryle,” he said firmly, trying to get me to focus. “You’ve got to find a Chevy dealer and ask them to help you. Does it make the sound all the time?”
“Yep, pretty much. It gets really loud when the road is bumpy.”
“When you stop for the night, look for a Chevy dealer. You’ll have to go there in the morning.”
Sighing, I resigned myself to my fate. Wal Mart Super Center in Fort Morgan, Colorado was to be my home for the night. As I pulled in between the other campers and big rigs, I wondered how to go about finding a Chevy dealer.
First things first, I thought, as I began my preparations for the evening.
I’ve gotten in quite a routine when I stop. If I don’t start with walking Belle, she will drive me crazy with barking. Next, I remove the stove cover and lay it gently in the front seat. Then, I clean the camper from the day’s traveling. If I don’t use the dog sponge on the carpet and seats and sweep the floor, dog hair gets in my dinner. If I don’t put everything back in its place and throw away any trash lying around, I have no place to cook. As I was cleaning the trash around the dashboard and front seat, I found a metal spoon.
How on earth did a spoon get on my dash board, I wondered. Then I remembered the dish of strawberries I’d eaten at 4:00 PM. I’d sat down in the front seat to read a map while I ate. Too impatient to walk to the back and put things away, I put the paper bowl on the floor and stuck the spoon in one of the dozens slots on my sophisticated dashboard.
I wonder if this was the rattle that had me so rattled? I thought. I was hoping it was but knew I was going to take ribbing from Bob if it turned out to be the source. I decided not to say anything until I knew for sure.
Bob called later that night. “Did you find a Chevy dealer?”
“No,” I said hesitantly.
“Why not?” he asked.
I knew I had to confess. “It might have been a spoon.”
“A spoon?” he repeated. Bob loves to repeat what I just said. I know he wanted an explanation but I was feeling a little ornery.
“Yes,: I answered. “A spoon.”
Silence greeted me on the other end of the line. He knew that I knew he wanted an explanation. I gave in first and offered details.
“Well,” he said. “Let’s hope it was the spoon.”
I pulled out the next morning, listening diligently for my rattle. Only blessedly normal engine sounds greeted me. My rattle was gone.
I called Bob and cheerfully announced. “It was the spoon.”
“The spoon,” he repeated. More silence. I couldn’t tell if he was rolling his eyes, laughing, or disgusted.
Finally he said, “I guess it is good that you figured that out before you embarrassed yourself at the Chevy dealer.”
I went to laughing. “I’m immune to embarrassment. I’ve had too much practice.”
I had learned the hard way one more thing to be diligent about. My word of truth (2 Timothy 2:15) for the day was a truth I had learned before: When you travel in a camper, you have to put everything back in its proper place when you finish with it. You cannot under any circumstances, ever ever ever cut corners. Taking the yoke of this lifestyle sometimes moves beyond humbling and into humiliation.
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