something to offer

It was a Sunday evening, and there were four young adults in a small car with a manual transmission. They were on their way to church, but as it happened, they went left instead of right, and started looking for a place to turn around. They missed a driveway hidden under a blanket of snow, but found a gravel road instead. Unfortunately, the darkness and the falling of many snowflakes made it difficult to see, and what was meant for a U-turn manifested itself instead as a small car parked neatly in a snowbank on the side of the road. The small car was valiant, but not very heavy, and not very strong. It was stuck.

The four young adults climbed out of the marooned vehicle and discovered a snow shovel in the trunk. For a time the only masculine personage in their midst applied himself to scooping snow with it, until such a time came as seemed fitting for two of the feminine bystanders to apply their weight to the front of the car while he tried to back it out. Unfortunately it turned out to be what they call a no-go.

One of the girls said, How about if I try driving, so he can push. (Guys are stronger than girls, you know. Usually.) She had started to learn to drive a stick once, after all, she said. Sadly, this mission had also to be aborted in its trial run, in spite of the best intentions. It was becoming a sad situation in the middle of nowhere, with only the sub-zero winds and lots of snow flying around, and no parents answering their phones.

Then the girl who had been standing by the side watching (because she only had summer shoes and no socks on her feet, and in such a condition objected to wallowing around in snow drifts) - this girl said, How about that other girl, the one that's my sister? She can drive a stick.

And the girl who was her sister froze, and she looked out of the corner of her eye for a bush to hide behind. There weren't any, though, so her thoughts flew around in the open air: I can, she thought, but I haven't known how for very long, and I don't do it very well. What if I do it wrong? What if I get it more stuck, or what if it comes loose and I fly it right across into the other ditch, or what if I run over someone? I can't do it, I mean I can, but I ... but all she said was, Well, I can, but ... well, okay.

So she tried, and it took some time, but in the end it was she that sat behind the wheel when at last the small car was dislodged and went spinning happily back onto the beaten path. She was happy, but not very proud. That was no path to heroism - to get volunteered in the homestretch for a job you should have taken up at the gate.

Maybe you've guessed by now that that girl is me, and that the story in which I so ingloriously participated is true. Well, it is, and it's actually not even a week old.

I do that a lot. I stand in the midst of a Situation, and I hold what could (or could not) be the Key; but I'm afraid. I feel so very young, so foolish, so inadequate. I think I'm probably wrong. I'll mess it up. I'll hurt someone, and it'll just be better if I stay out of the way and let someone else take a risk. So many doubts, like so many snowflakes, or maybe so many gnats - What if what I think is the right thing to say, turns out to be insensitive and hurtful? What if my idea falls flat? What if I offer my opinion, and everyone disagrees? What if we end up worse off than we are now, just because of my input? I haven't been here long enough yet to be useful ... I'm too small ... too weak ... I don't understand.

But I'm realizing that if I wait for myself to be big enough to help, I think I'll wait forever. All I can do is grow smaller, as I realize who I am. Yet, in spite of all my nagging doubts, if I stop moping at my miserable reflection and look down at what I hold in my hands, I find that, of all things, I do have something to offer. I've been entrusted with more gifts than I can quite wrap my mind around, now that I look - an entire life (as far back as I can clearly remember) lived in a solid, loving, Christian home; a phenomenal family; a so-far peaceful lot in a so-far prosperous nation; friends, neighbors, and a church family like most people only dream about; an un-boxed education, and a few minor talents - just to tick off a few. And the crowning, unforeseen glory: the blood of God's own Son poured out to save me from eternal fire, and the promise of His Spirit to indwell, comfort, and sanctify me for as long as I walk this earth - and the sure hope that this gift is freely given to all who believe.

None of these gifts are mine, I can't take any credit for them - but they've been given into my hand, which seems to make me an intended vehicle for their distribution. What shame if I held such inestimable treasures, given to me for a reason, and I only clung to them useless forever, too afraid of stumbling to venture out into the dark to give them away. Certainly I lack wisdom, but if you read the first chapter of James, I think you'll find that He can take care of that difficulty, too.

In fact, I have yet to hear of a difficulty He can't take care of. Not a single crooked stick He can't use to draw a straight line, if only we'll yield ourselves to His touch, and stop trying to stand up on our own.

How about you? Is there a gift you've been clinging to, afraid to seem arrogant in raising your hand, afraid of falling short? Do you know the truth of the gospel? If you've been given something to offer, offer it! Don't wait, like I did, for someone else to do it for you. Life is too short, and time is far too precious, to live that way.

Pray about it earnestly; and then, like those shoe people say, Just Do It.