It is not without some irony that I find parallels between my mechanical ineptitude and aspects of my life that are beyond my control that I always try controlling. Perhaps this is man's curse. We, with these minds of ours, can craft so many tools to fix just about anything. Some special, some small, some that even make us dependent. But with so many tools, a man feels empowered to fix any obstacle in their way. We can make a motor purr anew, we can make a computer come back to life, and we can cover the scratches and holes in drywall. With that being said, the gaping holes that reside in us are left to be filled by our own methods. This, of course, is our human condition. We think, I think, that I can fix everything. This is my form of idolatry.
This past week I attempted to fix my pool problems that stemmed from last season. Late August, just before we were to use the pool for my little daughter's birthday party, the pump suddenly stopped working. I went to the breaker box first, having had similar problems before. Flipped switch, went back out, nothing. So the pump sat silent all fall and winter. The subtle day to day changes in the pool grew more evident. First a cloudy film. Then a slight green haze. A bug here, a stray wiffle ball bobbing along the edge, a wayward floatie aimlessly searching for its twin. Eventually it became a green pond. Winter came, and the pool remained a reminder of work that had to be done come spring time. Tax money had already been reserved for the new purchase of a motor.
So spring temperatures awakened this urgent need to get the pool up and running. Even the ducks that have been aggressively flying into the pool to drink of its green waters mocked (seriously, I threw wiffle balls at them and was short of using my fabled BB gun on them but was worried someone would film my animal abuse) this eventual return to the outdoors. So, I began using what limited tools (another irony) I had to prove (to whom? I guess just me) that I could master this without intervention. I shut off valves, twisted hoses and pried loose clamps. Eventually I brought the offending materials to box heaven and purchased new ones.
Now, here comes the dreaded moment of truth. After some serious twisting of hoses, cursing and sweat, I conceded to help. Uncle Tommy was called, I awaited his return to the land of the Misfit Mechanics, and then realized after the amount of toil that it had been an electrical problem the entire time. No need for a new pump (at that time) and cursing and dirty knees. Just a simple safety valve my original electrician installed that needed to be reset. I would have thrown a grenade in the entire pool just as my excuse to not fix it by that time. All the work for nothing.
And the week of Easter was another reminder of this fix-it idolatry. I have been struggling with this need to love with conditions. I want so much for others around me to have this sense of fulfillment (or what I believe to be fulfillment) that I began to manipulate those men I should have been loving the most. I saw flaws in every mirror. Each act of faith by others was questioned of its validity. I began yearning for such a bond of brothers that I would accept nothing less. In the end, I wanted to hammer away at other people's lives into some kind of sculpture that would look best for God.
What the hell was I thinking?
I might as well have swam in these murky waters with the ducks. And there is this fear of water I sometimes have, that when I open my eyes underwater, I won't see a thing. I'll never scuba dive for fear of some fish, magnified by my goggles, swimming behind my ear. Electric eels and their open mouths. Stingrays and their flat bodies, most likely smooth and clammy, the feeling of a cold crypt in October. But for all the fixing I was doing, I had done just that. My tools, my life, my outcomes. Remember the movie "Magnolia" where William H. Macy is sitting amid a shower of frogs tells John C. Reilly. "I have so much love to give, I just don't know where to put it." And the duck squawks.
Currently the green water will eventually turn a gray. It will look like river water. Eventually I will be able to see my feet at the bottom, and the smell of chlorine will remind me once again about maintenance and ritual. Devotions, prayer, worship, repeat. My friends undoubtedly will remember my actions. Perhaps I won't get away with my schemes the next time. Friends are forgiving. God is too. I have been unwilling to change the most important thing about myself--that arrogant confidence. Losing weight, one major change, has given me more confidence. I love the feeling of a 3x shirt rather than a 4x one. Other changes too--less drinking, more study, less distractions. I feel that the last 33 years were my way, and conviction has warranted some changes in my lifestyle. But in this effort, why am I worried about the changes in others. Love wins, right? Grace wins. Always.
For now, the pool water must be cleaned. The ducks need a new home. I'm ready for a swim.
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