Refill the Tank

True confession:  I’m a gas light gambler. The light stares incessantly, but surely there's one more trip in the tank. Bypassing opportunity to be refilled, I press forward. The needle wavers, slips into the thick bottom line nearing the big E, but still I pursue one more thing, one more day, one more task.

Needing rescue, hubby or friends arrive, red tank in hand with life giving nectar, just enough to lead me back for a complete refill. Filled once more, fresh vows never to do it again, and yet...

there’s the light once again, sending it's alarm, encouraging me to stop and be filled.

I’m in control, I dictate my day.  

Ignoring the alarm, I press forward, working harder, going faster until the final drips are spent and I’m at the gritty bottom.  On the thick tank bottom sits the sediment, the waste, the useless and harmful by-products. The dregs were never meant for intricate parts, they drift in and render everything ineffective requiring a bigger rescue than a roadside fill-up.

The better alternative is to pay attention to the alarm, obey its suggestion and  refill the tank.

The First To-Do

Stumbling upon loads of undesirable images and mindsets in the Big Book of Truth lately… flailing arms, tossed about on the waves, simple minds, little faith.  All aptly describing me…not in my youth or many years behind but a mere 5 minutes prior I was easily all four. 

Fresh from an overnight away, a few days to rest and rejuvenate, preparing for the busiest of seasons, I should be fully restored, ready to attack tasks with a full tank.  But no.  The tank immediately emptied considering the to-dos. Where to start? What’s most important?  Am I focusing on needless details?  Should I even carry this line? How does that work into existing stock? Will son manage picking up the pre-ordered dinner? Tightening began small, like the rag I twist on cleaning days, lodged right between collarbone and breast. Squeezing and twisting, the tightening now affecting inhales. Breathe. What to do first?  Walk with me, that still small voice whispers.  I don’t have time right now, I should have walked fresh out of bed.  I’ll walk tomorrow.  Walk with me, it insists. This is the last thing I have time for right now, but I lace my sneaks and trudge out the door, tightness still heavy over my heart. 

One step, then another, heaviness slipping in drips. Breathe, the voice speaks again. Breathe again.  That’s better. My weekly verse now returns as the long list of distractions fade:  those who receive the rain that often falls and produce a crop for those it benefits will receive the blessing of God. Long breath in:  Receive the Rain.  Slower breath out:  Produce a crop.  Receive the Rain, Produce the Crop. Receive, Produce, Receive, Produce.  There, there.  Breathing returns to normal, mind clear once again, the inclination is to sprint home applying my new-found calm to the long to-do.  But no… more steps, more breaths.  Receive, Produce, an ever present cycle that requires a constant return to Receiving. However, my default key seems stuck in Produce.  Work, to-do, check-off, new list, more checking off, bigger notebook, more lists. Figure it out, work harder, dig deeper when the very first thing needs to be Receive. Top of the list, the first to-do: Receive.