"To begin with, honey, it really could have been worse..."
I have found that when I am compelled to start a sentence that way, it usually corresponds with something very ill-advised on my part that I have done. I have also found that I start sentences like that way too often.
I did so again this past week. Dana, for her part, shook her head, sighed and calmly proceeded outside to find out just how bad it was. The idea seemed pretty foolproof, actually, but apparently there is no fool quite like a man with a brilliant idea.
A few weeks ago, in preparation for a big event at our church, it was necessary for me to drive 20 steel rods, 4 feet long each, 2 feet into the ground. Once our big event was over, I needed to remove them from the ground. Having a half-hour window of opportunity, I went to remove the stakes. My first effort, utilizing a rope and a 2x4 as leverage, was a failure.
So I did what any self-respecting man with a decent-sized vehicle would do, I broke out the power. That involved tying the rope around the first stake, then tying the rope to the bumper of my GMC Yukon. Dana and I agreed 17 years ago that anything we possessed would be regarded as a tool for use in the work of the Lord, and the Yukon is no exception. We use it to haul lumber, equipment, shuttle kids back and forth to church and much more.
But for the moment, my plan was much simpler: I would pull the stakes over and out of the ground using the 7,200-pound vehicle and good strong rope.
I started off slowly, the rope pulled taut, then it continued to stretch as the vehicle moved forward and the stake stayed firmly in the ground. And it is in that word "stretch" that I made my terrible miscalculation.
A split-second later it happened. It all seemed to happen in slow motion, but I know that, in truth, it was an event at which the speed of that stake shooting out of the ground was probably roughly the speed of something being shot out of a cannon. For some reason, I had expected it to simply pull out and lay on the ground. But as I looked in my rearview mirror, I saw the 4-foot-long metal projectile rocketing toward the rear window of my vehicle.
In a flash, many divergent thoughts went through my mind. How much does a rear window cost? Will insurance even believe my story? Is there a way I can pin this on the children? Will it shoot through the window and embed itself in the back of my head? If it does, will I be able to get through the metal detectors in the airport as I flee the country in shame?
The rod hit, thankfully, just below the window. We now have a lovely new dent and scar on the back of the Yukon to match the many others it has received in service for the Lord.
Serving the Lord, though, tends to be like that, especially for people. The apostle Paul said in Galatians 6:17: "From henceforth let no man trouble me: for I bear in my body the marks of the Lord Jesus." Paul had been quite literally scarred and battered and bruised for serving Christ.
Anyone who serves the Lord can expect to have hard days and heartaches. But the thing about scars is, they tell a story. I can look at the back of my vehicle and point not just to the most recent scar, but also to the one it received while pulling a church trailer and the one it received while hauling kids to camp. We do not think of them as flaws; we see them as vehicular badges of honor.
Have you been scarred and bruised for Christ? Look at them the exact same way. Think about this: When we get to heaven, we will see the marks and scars in his hands and feet from where he died for us. It will do us good to see that we, likewise, have received a few scars for him.
Bo Wagner is pastor of the Cornerstone Baptist Church of Mooresboro, N.C., and the author of several books which are available at wordofhismouth.com. Contact him at 2knowhim@cbc-web.org.