Now to the one who works, wages are not credited as a gift but as an obligation. However, to the one who does not work but trusts God who justifies the ungodly, their faith is credited as righteousness.
Romans 4:4-5
This story is about me being an idiot. I hope you enjoy it as much as I don't.
Here's what happened:
I bought a new car. First time ever. Still not sure it was a good idea, but we did it. It gets fifty miles per gallon because it's a diesel, which is unfortunate because...
I filled it with regular gas, and that's unfortunate because...
that kinda destroys all the fuel lines and stuff, and that means...
it was going to cost seven grand to fix, which I didn't have so...
I rode me bike, carrying extra stuff, to work, going uphill and...
managed to injure my back, rendering me bedridden for several days, and in excruciating pain, so...
I'm an idiot.
I felt dumb. And guilty. And stupid. And like a failure. And some other stuff.
As I rode my rode in difficult weather, I thought, I deserve this. As I lay on the couch, in pain from my bike injury, I thought, This is what I get for what I did. I'm paying the price for my screwing this up. I was doing penance, and I deserved it.
And then Volkswagen called, with the total cost, including towing, tax, everything: $0.
Nothing. The service guy said the parent company was paying for it. It wasn't a warranty thing. We couldn't make them do it. They just did it, in hopes of winning long-term customers, I guess.
Zero dollars.
I was happy about this, but here's where it gets weird: something in me wasn't elated. There was part of me – there's still a part of me – that wanted me to pay a price for it. Yes, on one level, this makes no sense. Maybe you've never felt that way. Simultaneously thankful and, strangely helpless.
I blew it, my wife knew it, and she didn't begrudge it. I blew it, and the repair guys didn't make me feel stupid. I blew it, and did something harmful, and didn't pay a dime. What I got, for my idiocy, was free towing and fixing. And I got a free detailing of the car, and they changed the oil too. That's what I got.
I had to figure out why this didn't sit entirely well with me: it turns out, I hadn't been "paying the price" at all. I had no control over this. I'm not being held responsible. Even feeling guilty didn't help. There's nothing about me in this at all.
And that's the problem. It's not about me, not about Brant Hansen.
At. All.
In sports, there's the guy on deck in the bottom of the ninth. He's struck our four times, but he has – as the say all the time in sports – "a chance to redeem himself" if he gets to the plate. He can still be the hero and win the game for his team.
A chance to "redeem himself."
But I'm the guy who struck out four times, waits on deck for his chance... and doesn't get to the plate. The guy in front of me hits the game-winning homer. We win! We're the champions! He did it, not me. I didn't redeem myself. Now I'm sitting in the locker room, and I should be celebrating with everyone else.
