It'll Fit, Give It Time

I just changed vehicles the other day, the first time in nine years. I have a habit of driving my vehicles for years, because they become like a comfortable shoe, a reliable friend and a familiar trustworthy ally. I know them mechanically and know there limitations, which lends to long term relationships. To me, getting into a different vehicle is like moving into a new house. All my stuff don’t fit. Plus, it’s getting used to everything being foreign to the touch and sight. It’s like putting on someone else’s shoes. Their not new, where you can mold them to your feet, instead, they’re already molded to other feet and there’s lumps and such contrary to the shape of your feet. You know what I mean; the size is right, there are just a few lumps that need rearranging, to make it comfortable. Anyway, I traded up 5 years to a ’02 and dropped 100,000 miles in another van to assist me in the Lord’s work. It won’t be long before this van fits just as comfortably as the old one, a new old reliable. I pray this one is as good as the last.
Putting on his coat after worship, another said, “Are you Mr. Smith from Newport?” “No I’m not. Why do you ask?” the man inquired. “Well, you see, I am Mr. Smith and I believe that’s his coat you’re putting on.” (It probably didn’t fit right anyway.)
The Navy Chief noticed a new seaman and barked at him, “Get over here! What’s your name?” “Paul”, the new seaman replied. “Look, I don’t know what kind of bleeding-heart pansy junk they’re teaching sailors in boot camp these days, but I don’t call anyone by their first name”, the Chief scowled. “It breeds familiarity, and that leads to a breakdown in authority. I refer to my sailors by their last name only: Smith, Jones, Baker, got it? I am to be referred to only as Chief. Do I make myself clear?” “Aye, Chief”, answered the seaman. “Now that we’ve got that straight”, continued the Chief, “what’s your last name?” The young sailor sighed and said, “Darling. My name is Paul Darling, Chief.” “Okay Paul, this is what I want you to do…” (Didn’t fit right.)
[James 4: 8] “Come near to God and he will come near to you. Wash your hands, you sinners, and purify your hearts, you double-minded.” Luciano Pavarotti once said, “When I was a boy, my father, a baker, introduced me to the wonders of song. He urged me to work very hard to develop my voice. Arrigo Pola, a professional tenor in my home town of Modena, Italy, took me as a pupil. I also enrolled in a teachers college. On graduating I asked my father, ‘Shall I be a teacher or a singer?’ ‘Luciano’, my father replied, ‘if you try to sit on two chairs, you will fall between them. For life, you must choose one chair.’ I chose one. It took seven years of study and frustration before I made my professional appearance. It took another seven to reach the Metropolitan Opera. And now I think whether it’s laying bricks, writing a book – whatever we choose – we should give ourselves to it. Commitment, that’s the key. Choose one chair.” Pavarotti’s words are not only good advise in choosing a career, but good spiritual advise. Too often, the mistake we make is that we are too divided. We want to focus on the things of this world and the things of God, but it’s not possible. “If you try to sit on two chairs, you will fall between them.” We need to develop a more single-minded love for God. A worthy and fruitful relationship with God must be more than simply one item in an overcrowded agenda. It must be the central force and aim in our lives, the only thing that really matters. God fits comfortably. Try Him on for size.