I'm on the way home from the grocery store and as I wait for my garage door to rise, the light on the dashboard pops on.
I groan because I was supposed to get gas while I was out at the store and now I'm sitting on almost-empty. Unwilling to unload the groceries and then get back in the car, I surmise that we can probably make it to swimming lessons and then to the gas station before we run out completely. Because of my own empty tank, the one that resides in this physical frame of mine, I am willing to take this risk.
How often do I pull into my own house and just as I set about to do all the things that I need to do there: the cleaning, the loving, the folding, the disciplining, the patting, the keeping-of-my-temper-in-check, my own gas light goes on, telling me that I forgot to refill?
How often do I take the risk to continue on, to run off fumes, to just get by, and fingers-crossed-hope that I make it until I can get to the filling station -- that place where there is quiet, where I can lay down burdens, lay down work, lay down self-driven goals?
I take the risk too often and then I'm stranded on the side of the road. Stranded with nothing left to give and a shame-filled face because I did something stupid like forget to fill up my gas tank.
So, what's a girl to do but walk to the source and fill 'er up? What's a girl to do, but learn her lesson and learn it well? What's a girl to do but remember what it's like to be filled?
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