And the garage door won!
We believe the garage door on our home is the original. In garage door years it must be a hundred and fifty years old. About two weeks ago one of the sides started coming off the track. With my dear, sweet wife's help, I could get the door back on track. Actually, it was pretty easy. And for a guy who isn't handy, I felt a certain sense of accomplishment that I'd fixed the door myself.
So when the door went off track again yesterday, I thought, "No problem." Ah, but it became a problem. The roller did not go easily back into the track. Sherri said, "We'd better call a repair man." That would have been the wise thing to do.
I often ignore Sherri's advice, usually to my regret. I told her, "I got this." So I pulled, I yanked, I pushed. I lifted. I'd get one side back on track only to pull the other side off track. It became clear I was a beaten man. Again, the two words, "repair" and "man" would not be used in connection with my name.
The garage door repair man arrived, surveyed the situation and said, "I got this." And he did. He fixed the door and did it with much less exertion than I put into it. While he worked, I went back to writing Sunday's sermon (way more taxing to the mind than the body!).
With the garage door back on track (pardon the pun) I decided to eat lunch and then head down to the office. I'd finished eating when I saw a scrap of paper on the floor. I bent over to pick it up and WOW, OH, WOW!
I felt like I'd gotten an electric shock. My back began to spasm and I ended up down on the floor.
As I lay there I thought, "Is this where Sherri will find me tonight?" I was home alone (except for the cats who were not going to let my physical troubles disturb their nap time).
It was obvious that the score was: Garage Door, 1. George, 0.
After about 20 minutes I was able to get back up and, fortunately, my phone was nearby. I let Sherri know of my plight and I called Connie at the office and told her that I wouldn't be coming into the office (It's in these moments that I really appreciate our new associate pastor!). I went to my good friend, the ice pack, and we spent the rest of the day together.
How often I seem to mess things up when I let my pride get the best of me. Given what Martin Luther taught about vocation, if he'd been here he might have said, "Get a repair man, dummy. That's his job - to fix the door. Your job is to write sermons. Get it straight!"
I think that's advice I'll heed.
