When You Can't Do It Yourself

I SAT in the driver's seat and peered across the hood at what seemed like an open ravine below me. My brother-in-law and I were spending the afternoon knocking out a few caches far south of our normal area. The map on the GPS clearly showed a road in front of us. However reality showed that road had gone from pavement to gravel to dirt and now we were looking down into a running stream that blocked us from the other side. We knew another paved road was waiting for us just a few yards ahead, but getting there was more work than our two dimensional maps had let on.

"Hmmm," I said, "looks like we'll have to turn back."

"What do you mean, 'turn back?'" he countered. "You have four-wheel drive. Use it."

His words woke me to the reality of what I was driving—my new "Cache-Mobile." We had recently gotten rid of the old family minivan and opted for something with a little more bite. I would be lying if I told you that geocaching didn't come into the decision. After finding myself on a lot of muddy back roads in my reliable but tame Taurus it was time to move up to something that could get me there and back. The Durango fit the bill, however my brain still hadn't fully come to grips with what it might be capable of. In my mind I was still driving the little two-wheel drive, low to the ground car.

Life is like that, though. We become so aware of our weaknesses and failings that when we are presented with an opportunity to do a little more we freeze. It's not so much that we're comfortable with where we are, but we're uncomfortable with how to get to the next step.

"I can't do that!" I told him. "I've never done that before! What if we get stuck way out here in the middle of nowhere?"

"You're not going to get stuck," he assured me. "Just put it in four-wheel drive and ease it back up the hill."

I looked down into the path before us. The angle down and back up looked pretty extreme. The water wasn't too bad. At least it might clean the tires off…temporarily.

Then I checked the map on the GPS one more time. Sure enough, there was a road straight ahead. All we had to do was make it through this one little rough area and we would be home free. Turning back would mean backtracking, looking for another path-that may or may not be better-and a long time before we were able to hunt for the next cache. Plus, it would also mean taking heat from Chris for not driving on ahead.

I think Paul recognized the tendency within us for indecision in the face of the need for decision. I think he even saw it in himself. When he wrote to the Philippians he spoke of the comforts he had known in his life-his education, his success, his fame. But he wrote to them from prison, a place he had never been before and a place where his future was unsure. What was it that enabled Paul to endure the path he was on and make it through the muddy, murky place in which he found himself?

In Philippians 4:13 Paul reminds us (and himself), "I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength." It's one of those verses that you've seen on refrigerator magnets and needlepoint pictures done by sweet little Sunday School teachers. However it deserves a grittier place in our lives. This isn't a verse to help us as we're struggling to fight off the temptation to raid the fridge for the last piece of cheesecake. It isn't a verse to perk us up in the morning when coffee alone won't do the trick. This is a verse for when we're at the crossroads of life and going backwards isn't an option and staying where you are isn't an option. This is the verse you kick in when you have to move forward and 100% alone won't do.

That's the difference between "impossible" and "possible." I can try all I want and some things will still be impossible. My lack of faith will paralyze me. My lack of trust in God will prevent me from seeking him for the answers. It's very easy to come to an understanding of what I can't do by myself. But to know what Christ can do through me requires overcoming the lack of trust and stepping out on faith even when everything within me says, "don't do it." It isn't that Christ does it for me, but rather I put my energy into the challenge and Christ bridges the gap between "possible" and "impossible." He makes up for what I lack.

I shifted the vehicle into four-wheel drive and headed down into the stream. As I got to the bottom I looked up at the other side. Now that I was getting an eye-level view of the road I saw it for what it was-not dirt but sand! Sinking sands. Shifting sands. Did the man who built his house on the sand also drive his SUV across them? I couldn't remember. But it was too late to turn back now. I was in the ravine the only thing to do was try to get back out anyway.

There comes that time when you see your challenge head-on and you suddenly realize just how big it might be. Maybe it's a new responsibility you've been asked to take on in your job. Maybe a family crisis has arisen that has caused you to fill a role you don't think you're ready for. Or maybe life has just come to a crossroads and, even though you can see the other side, getting from here to there is more than you can do under your own power. But who knows what we might be capable of if we just get it in gear.

"I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength."

Give it all you've got, but let Christ give it more.

I tapped the gas pedal lightly and felt the tires dig in as we slowly rose to the other side. I smiled and turned to my brother-in-law. "That was cool!" I snickered.

"Yeah," he replied, "we should do that again sometime."

"Sure thing. Just don't tell your sister. She scares me!"