Maintenance

Have you ever taken your vehicle in for a simple oil change and the mechanic hands you a list of things that are wrong or required maintenance tuneups that cost you additional money? You wonder if these are really necessary. The car runs fine. You've had it for years and it hasn't needed additional work. Now you have to decide if these are optional or necessary expenses. If you plan to get 200,000 miles out of your car, (as my husband does) do you go ahead and have the work done when it doesn't seem that important?

I've noticed that the vehicle I was given to drive through life requires greater and more frequent maintenance. After 50 years, it doesn't run as smoothly as it once did. It isn't as fast or sleek either. I add fuel frequently, and figure if I keep the tank full, I will have the most energy and can go longer distances.  I am wrong. Reminds me of the time I put premium gas into the Suburban. I nearly killed it.  The Suburban was made to run on regular. Why did I think more expensive, richer, higher octane gasoline would make the Suburban happier and run better? It didn't. My sports car is different. Nothing but premium will do. I have never filled the tank with regular gasoline. If I did, it would choke, sputter, and lose speed. I am built more like a Chevy Suburban than a Honda S2000.

Like the list my mechanic has given me for my car, I write up a list of the required maintenance projects and vehicle inspections I've been told are necessary. I question whether I should mention to my mechanic the recent pinging sounds I've heard. Should I make an appointment with a body shop to fix the new dings and dents to keep this ride looking presentable? Or will a simple car wash be enough?  Like going in for regular maintenance and oil changes, I'm given a pathetically long list of things I need to consider that seem like more than a minor tuneup-and cost more. Indicator lights flash at me. I wonder if I'm as healthy as I think I am.  I feel old and worn out. I'm only at 75,000 miles, it shouldn't be this bad.

"Lord," I pray, "what shall I do with this growing list of complaints?

"What about the other one?"

"What?" I don't hear as well as I used to either. Could you repeat that? I hear the faint whisper again, "where is the other list?"

"What other list?" I ask. "I have to make another list? I don't think I can take it."

The Holy Spirit whispers again. "Where is the other list?"

"One isn't enough? Oh no, don't tell me I have a whole list of maintenance on my soul and spirit too? I should have known that was coming."

"Where is the list of the parts that are working perfectly? The cells, joints, and marrow. The muscles, tissue, and organs. Vessels, villi, veins. Hair, heart, hands..."

Wow! That would take the rest of my life to list every little thing in my body that operates well every single day.

What I thought was a pathetically long list of complaints, God transformed into a time of thanksgiving and praise.


Finally, brethren, whatever things are true, whatever things are noble, whatever things are just, whatever things are pure, whatever things are lovely, whatever things are of good report, if there is any virtue and if there is anything praiseworthy—meditate on these things.