Sometimes, you just gotta laugh...

We frequently make a drive-thru run after church on Sunday evenings. While I could (and probably should) plan ahead and provide a more nourishing meal for my family, the weekly drive-thru has become a part of our routine. We often arrive home around 9:30, plop down with our bags of fat, and veg while we watch the latest episode of AFV or Extreme Makeover Home Edition. I know all my health-conscious friends are gasping in horror at this very moment, but don't "fat" and "vegging [root word: vegetable] on the couch" cancel each other out?

Anyhow, due to my husband's schedule and responsibilities, we always need to take both of our vehicles to church. And most often, after the evening service, my husband and a couple of our guys will make a quick run to the fast food establishment of choice while another of the guys and I go home to get things ready.

So shortly after we arrived home last night, our youngest son came in the back door announcing, "Dad can't get the truck to shut off." Huh??? As I looked out the back door to get the scoop, our oldest son came strolling in, as well, Taco Bell bags in hand. "The truck won't shut off," he confirmed.

Who ever heard of such a thing???

I went out to the garage to see for myself, and sure 'nough, my husband was calmly fidgeting with the steering wheel and the gear-shifter thingee, but the key would not budge in the ignition. Even after all these years, I'm still awed by and grateful for his control under fire. Had it been me, I would have been outwardly stressing, cranking, and mumbling about it. I'm so thankful for his consistency and example, even after a very long day!

After an internal pity party (about how this unexpected event was ruining the remainder of our short evening together), God (thankfully) gave me some renewed perspective. Armed with my camera (of course) and my husband's supper, I went out to the garage to join him. And with his grease-stained hands and the aroma of gas fumes wafting through the air, we stood there and laughed about the craziness of it all. Afterall, sometimes that's all you can do.

After several long minutes, it was clear that, though the garage door was open, he had better move the still-running van onto the street in front of our house. He made a few phone calls to friends, seeking semi-professional advice. One piece of wisdom was to bang on the tumbler (what's that?) with a hammer. Now that's our kind of fix-it job!

But alas, none of the tips worked, and we were faced with a decision. Still not knowing the root of the problem, should we call a locksmith (late on a Sunday night---$$$) or simply let the van run out of gas? With the tank only a third full, we opted for the latter.

I kid you not, when I awoke at 5:30 this morning, the crazy 15-year-old truck was STILL running. Just a few minutes later, I finally heard it conk out.

And there it remains, peacefully, at this very moment. I'm not sure what our next course of action will be. Will it be fixable? Will it be simple? Will it be worth it?

But this thing I know: As I hung out with my husband in the garage last night, I kept thinking, "This will make a great blog entry!"