The summer of my 12th year, my family climbed into our lizard green station wagon, hitched the pop-up camper to the bumper, and headed West. The humid summer had engulfed Michigan, and my dad saved two weeks of vacation time so we could escape and enjoy the national beauty of Colorado and Wyoming. Thousands of “are we there yet” later, as we drove through the Rocky Mountains the family station wagon coughed and stalled. After a few minutes under the hood, dad climbed behind the steering wheel, and announced gruffly, “It’s vapor locked. We have to wait for the motor to cool off before it’ll start back up.”
Computer controlled fuel injection solved the problem of vapor lock, but in 1970, we were bound by a common problem. The combination of high altitude, decreased air pressure and increased motor temperatures caused the fuel to vaporize before it got to the cylinders. The vapor created a back pressure, pushing fuel out of the motor, back into the carburetor. Imagine drinking soda from a straw on a hot day, but an unseen gremlin is in the bottle. Your foe sucks the pop back down the straw with such force that you can’t drink a drop. Thus was the fate of our feeble Rambler Wagon.
So there we sat, waiting for the engine to cool. We knew where we wanted to go, and had all the equipment to get there. We’d set the time aside, planned for success and had the best intentions. Yet the physical laws of the universe made progress impossible.
Last night I tuned into a movie just in time to walk with an emotionally vapor locked main character. He’d experienced the loss of his wife and son in a tragic car crash. He drove that fateful night, and was the only one to walk away. He remembered the fight with his late wife, but not the words. In his anger, he lost control of himself and his car. In every sense of the word, he was responsible for his family’s death.
So every year, he repaired the wrecked car. He painstakingly bumped out the dents, replaced the broken glass and repainted the body to showroom shine. When the anniversary of the crash arrived, he spent the night with two cruel friends, a bottle of Sake and a sledgehammer. Together they destroyed the car one blow at a time. The scene ended as he climbed into the drive seat, his blank, tear-stained eyes gazing through the broken windshield.
Vapor locked . . . emotionally vapor locked. His life was locked into an endless cycle. The trauma of his guilt, the memory of love lost, and the new direction of his empty life were a mountain road he couldn’t climb, not alone.
His redemption came in the form of a small boy. The lad asked simple questions, and through his actions, said, “I want you, here, now, with me.”
Ever been emotionally vapor locked? Ever watched your faith build toward success just to let unresolved feelings destroy your progress in a few self defeating decisions? Psychologists argue about the validity of conscious and subconscious motivations. In the sacred world, pastors preach the need to address our hurts, while others say you just have to believe you’re forgiven and move on. None the less, the evidence remains that as we start climbing toward good and godly goals, we often stall along the way for no visible reason. We can’t reach our destination without real healing, and the help of a loving Friend.
I think this is what Jesus did when He looked into Mary Magdalene’s face and said “Neither do I condemn you. Go now, and sin no more.”
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