Running Out of Gas

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
It’s probably been twenty years since I last ran out of gas. The last time I had plenty of excuses. That was before dashboards had idiot lights that blink, pulsate, and do everything but grab you by the lapels and scream, "You’re running on fumes, buddy. Stop, fill up, or else!"

Of course, after a while, the idiot lights become idiot proof. One starts thinking, "The last time that light was carrying on like this, and I filled up, I still had two gallons in the tank. Obviously, the light is rigged to lie. I can ignore it." So I did.

Early Wednesday morning, driving to work, the idiot light was glowing like hot, molten lava pouring out of a volcano. It seemed to get brighter and more insistent with each passing mile. Driving down Riverside, passing a number of gas stations, I thought, "I really ought to get gas today." By that point, I had ignored the idiot light for two whole days. It was time to pay homage to the gods of petrol.

Turning onto College Street from Riverside, full of good intentions, my car sputtered to a stop. I thought, "This can’t be happening to me." Looking up from my new curbside roost, I saw Jack Caldwell’s beautiful antebellum home looming large. Wonder how Jack would like me knocking on his door, unannounced at 7:30 in the morning. "Hey Jack, can you spare a cup of coffee . . . and some gasoline?"

I decided to pray instead. People far wiser and more sophisticated than I think it unseemly to pray in such circumstances. Me? In a crisis, I fire off prayers like a marooned sailor firing his last flare into the night sky, hoping against hope for a miracle.

Well, I got one. After saying my "Dear God, help!"　prayer, I turned the ignition and the car coughed its way to a shaky start. My vehicle started rolling, uncertainly, spastic and sputtering, toward the gas station at the corner of College and Hardeman. At a long red light (they’re all long when you’re running out of gas), I looked both ways and eased my way through the intersection. No blue lights or sirens. Home free! I crested the hill 100 yards from the gas station and figured, if needed, I could coast to refueling heaven. As it turned out, I made it just as my ‘96 Camry--suffering from the exact opposite problem of the ones making the news!--gave up the ghost.

Sunday, in our consideration of the 7 deadly sins, we’ll be pondering the sin of "sloth." It’s not what you think. Essentially, the sin of "sloth" is running out of gas. And the spiritual struggle is where to find the fuel you need to start up again.

Say your prayers and show up. Who knows? You might get a miracle too.