Saturday Ramblins, Vol. 1, No. 11 (July 25, 1998)

When I was a boy of sixteen, I teamed up with a cousin: two dangerous teenagers newly armed with driving licenses. We purchased a '38 Ford sedan from the weeds behind a farmer's barn. It was more rust than car, but we intended to remedy that in short order. The car cost us a whopping $25.

Using a tractor to tow it back on its rims to my uncle's farm, my cousin and I worked on it everyday for weeks. We took it apart, piece by piece, nut by nut and bolt by bolt. My uncle provided help when asked, but mostly he sat by content and bemused at these two automotive Einsteins.

After many trips to the junk yard for parts — some of which fit, some of which didn't (but with enough pounding, banging and wrenching eventually served the purpose), we had the car put back together again. Well, mostly put back together. You see, there were several parts left over. Not nuts or springs, but parts--some the size of a small child.

For the life of us, we could not figure out where those parts went. Amazingly, it didn't seem to bother the old Ford. Like the Energizer Bunny, it started and kept going and going and going. We spent a summer of fun tooling that old bucket everywhere across the countryside.

And isn't that what it's like, giving our life over to God and letting Him remake it? We get it back but it may be missing some parts we thought were so terribly important. The analogy breaks down here somewhat, but the principal is the same.

It is not us who decide whether a part is needed or not. We surrender it all — everything we believe we are, or want to be, or have. God knows what's best and will remake us a little more like the angels.

True surrender comes by giving ourselves completely to God — nothing held back. He will rebuild us complete, if he ask Him. We won't really miss the parts He keeps for Himself. Like that old Ford, we'll keep going and going until, at last, we arrive home.

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