Some weeks ago I made a confession in the Sunday morning service. Once… about 18 years ago, I allowed myself to… run out of gasoline… with my (then two year old) son Alex in the truck. If you want to hear that story, you will need to listen to the message recording. The point here is that I’m guilty. I was an irresponsible parent. I ran out of gas. I promised myself and my toddler son, whom I carried down the shoulder of the interstate, that it would never happen again. I am happy to report that I have kept that promise.
Alex is twelve years older than his little brother, Josiah.
Josiah has never experienced the misfortune of his father running out of gas. Josiah has never been afraid of the cars whizzing past him just a few yards away.
Yet, it is Josiah who constantly asks me, “Do we have enough gas, Dad?”
He will stealthily unbuckle his seatbelt, lean forward in his seat and look over my shoulder to get a glimpse of the gas gauge. “Are you going to get gas today or tomorrow, Dad?”
“Josiah, we have half a tank. I will get gas in then next two or three days.” (A tank will last me seven to ten days.) Sometimes I get annoyed. Why doesn’t he trust me? I’m the adult; I take care of the gasoline.
“Josiah, trust me; I will take care of you.”
And then, it hits me. Is this how God feels when I don’t trust Him? I get anxious. I worry. Will he answer my prayer. Is he paying attention to my situation? I try to lean over His shoulder to check the gas gauge.
Unlike me, God has never run out of gas. If I can be trusted to get Josiah to school every morning, how much more can my heavenly father give good gifts to me?