Lenten collapse...

Hmmmmm...Maybe this public declaration of my Lenten surrender was not such a good idea after all. The two of you who read this semi-regularly will remember that as Lent began last week, I declared that what I thought God was nudging me to give up was my need to be the hero. We won't rehash the grizzly details as to why this is necessary at this point in my life... but that is only because there are grizzlier details of my complete failure to follow through with this attempt at surrender.

So here we go...and I must warn our young readers, I am a trained, professional hero impersonator, so please don't try this at home. My wonderful nephew, David Alan Gentiles, yeah poor guy, he's got to walk around with his knuckleheaded uncle's name (except my middle name is Anthony instead of Alan) and his delightful new bride of 5 months, Emily, came to Austin Friday to go to the Steven Curtis Chapman concert. Following the concert they came to the house to spend the night before they headed back to Dallas the next morning. We talked until late and then part of the deal was that I would make them pancakes for breakfast before they headed back north. I got up early, let Cleveland out, and decided that I would do what I had done a number of times when David came to visit ever since he was back in college...I would steal his keys and take his car and go fill it up with gas so he would have a full tank for the drive back home. I did just that, then hurried back home and fixed scrambled eggs, bacon, Community coffee, and both blueberry and banana pancakes. We had breakfast, talked some more, then they packed up their stuff and headed out just before noon. They had been gone about 10 minutes when I got a call from Emily..."Uncle David, did you put gas in the car?" I replied that I had, and she thanked me, and then she uttered the statement that was the body blow to the emotional solar plexus, "by any chance, did you fill up with diesel?" The wind sucked out of the room like a tornado had swirled above, and all I could utter was , "CRAP!". Yes...I am way too old and smart not to have considered the possibility that not every car on the planet uses unleaded gasoline. But it was 7 a.m. and I was just on a mission of mercy (this is where I should have remembered the ban on heroism...but NO...)and I had driven down to the end of the street, done the do-gooders deed and never thought a thing about it.

Now those of you who have some knowledge of the workings of the combustible engine are having one of two reactions. You are rolling your eyes and groaning audibly, or... you are laughing uncontrollably at the possibility that anyone could be that stupid.

Oh...trust me...someone could.

I told them to drive immediately to the closest gas station and I'd be right there. I did not yet recognize the lent betrayal, but I also did not immediately jump into my super-uncle spandex costume, although I did the next best thing...I went to the gas station, filled up a 5 gallaon can with diesel, went to the parts store and got a siphon tube and some diesel additive...I had messed this up...so now I was going to fix it. I failed at that too, by the way. Four hours later, with a mouth burning from siphoning only half of the 15 gallon tank from its unleaded intruder, I finally gave up...we called a tow truck, found a shop that is open 7 days a week (a minor miracle all its own) watched them tow it off and headed back to the house wet (oh yeah...it had been raining all afternoon) and smelling like we were sporting that new cologne rage..."Eau de Diamond Shamrock" (Thanks Val for that line). David and Emily were remarkably calm and kind considering there was the distinct possibility that I had just committed Roland-icide (they named their car Roland). We all proceeded to do our best to wash the smell of petroleum distillates out of our clothes and hair, had take-out for dinner and prayed for the best for Roland's mechanical health and the impending lighten-ing of my wallet.

The next morning was Sunday...David is on the worship staff at a huge church in the Dallas metroplex, so I had successfully managed to cause him to miss the one day of work a church staff member is not supposed to miss. The folks at Journey were funny and supportive, teasing and nurturing, as they heard the tragic story of my departure from car-care sanity. A few even were so sweet to give me some money to help pay the stupidity tax I was going to be assessed when we went to fetch Roland from his repairers. David and Emily continued to be gracious as we surrendered the ransom and loaded their stuff back into a freshly-dieseled and newly-filtered Roland and headed back to Dallas. They called when they got home to report that on the way back Roland ran better than he had for a long time. I suspect they were lying to make me feel better...but it worked.

So, boys and girls...what have we learned from this little object lesson? The heck if I know...I just am sure that I have a long way to go in learning to let go and not living out of a need to control the people and circumstances around me. It would not have been quite as cute, but it would have been a lot simpler if I would have just rolled up a few bills and gave them to David on his way to the car and let him buy his own diesel...

Anyway, Roland is OK...David and Emily made it home safe... I'll have more ramen and pb&j's this pay period, but I am content with the universe tonight...And...pitchers and catchers reported to spring training last Thursday...AHHHHHHH... I can smell baseball in the air...Well, mostly baseball with a wee bit of unleaded regular Chevron gas fumes permanently imbedded in the leather of my work boots...but it is spring, and resurrection is right around the corner.

Pling...Pling...

dg