We all have had flat tires at one point or the other. It happens. Church
was just letting out as I stood in the street and looked at my mother’s tire;
it was flat. It was 90 degrees as the sun beamed down. A small cigarette
lighter powered air pump labored away trying to raise the flattened tire.
I told my mother to take my Jeep and go home, and I would take care of
the tire. I listened as air hissed out as fast as the pump put it in. I found
the hole and backed the car up so the hole was on the bottom. The weight of the
car stopped the leak and allowed the tire to fill. With the tire full but
leaking, I pulled off. I didn’t know of any gas stations with mechanics in the
neighborhood, but I figured I could drive until I found one. I stayed off the freeway
in case the tire went flat.
After ten minutes of driving, I found nothing open on a Sunday
afternoon. I pulled into a gas station to pump up the nearly flat tire again.
As the pump was pumping, there was one man pumping gas. “Do you know where
I can get a tire plugged around here?” I asked. “There’s a place
right there,” he said pointing. “Right where?” I asked,
wondering where the place could be since he was pointing to the street and
direction that I had just driven from. “It’s next to the liquor store,
it’s on the right but you have to look hard to see it.” “Are they
open now on Sunday?” I asked. “Yes, they’re open,” he replied. I
thanked him and set out to find the repair shop.
I was somewhat skeptical that I could have passed a tire repair shop while
desperately looking for a tire repair shop. I passed the liquor store and there
on the right, down a gravel road was a tire repair shop. Men covered in black
grease were hard at work. They were a welcome sight as the air continually
hissed from the tire. In ten minutes, I was on my way.
It reminded me so much of life. Why? We are often deflated, the essence
of life slowly leaking out and each time we pump up it isn’t long before we’re
flat again. We are straining, crying, praying, hoping, pleading for the answer
and often we pass right by the answer. Life is slowly leaking out towards the
flatline and we pass right by because we don’t see the road, the place or the
men on the right. I could not find it on my own; I had to seek the answer from
someone who knew, from someone familiar with the territory. When I did hear the
answer, I was doubtful that I could have missed it because it was so close. I
measured it; it was 750 feet from where I asked the question, but I couldn’t
see from where I was standing. Someone had to point the way. Your answer is
also closer than you think. It’s on the right side. Some of you will have to
bypass the liquor store to get to it. When you get there they will be waiting
to help you. They will be waiting to help you stop the leak. They will be
waiting to fill you with breath. And they will be open on Sunday.
