Colorado CDL Permit

I got my Colorado CDL permit yesterday, after failing 2 out of 3 tests and retaking them the same day. I failed!? I generally don't fail tests. There was a general knowledge test (50 q's), an airbrakes test (25), and a passenger test (20). I failed general and passenger. I should've passed those and failed the airbrakes'. Weird. In the time up until "Congratulations, you passed this test!" flashed up on the screen for the last two tests, I was freaked out. I feared failing Summit Ministries, since they were the ones paying for it all. I feared continual failure, never being able to take tests again. I feared extrapolation of that failure to other areas of life and not being able to excel at anything. In general, it was scary. I knew I must continue on and get up again. Failure and fear can multiply exponentially to cease life as a whole. Thankfully, God is gracious and supplies strength when needed, even when not needed or noticed. Proverbs 24:16, "For a righteous man falls seven times, and rises again, but the wicked stumble in times of calamity." Now, I only have to go through a four hour driving test...on my own...in a bus...soon...and deal with that fear in order to get my full CDL. Strange how life never ceases to be challenging. Let's not talk about the Marine Corps OCS yet.

Connecting the Dots

Contentment comes in various forms throughout life. Sometimes it is in the form of happiness, and other times it simply reveals what should have been there all along. 

I had said that I would come back by and thank him for fixing my tranny. I make a habit of keeping my word. He fixed it four years ago. It took him about 3 days to complete the task, if I remember correctly. He was an transmission specialist with 30 years experience; it should've been only several hours. He said he would charge me $60 for the job. Professionals simply charge for the job, not the hours it takes. When he finished the job 3 days later, he knew well how my VW Jetta manual transmission functioned. He kept his word. I paid him.

He wanted me to test it out. I took the repaired tranny home and snugged it up under the hood in between the engine and left front tire. The whole process was informative and quality enhancing. The tranny worked fine, until the reverse gear popped out again. Darn. That's when I found the real cause of the problem--the linkage. I found some new nobs, slid them on, and found that I had already damaged the new reverse gear the specialist had installed. I decided to live with it instead of pulling the tranny again and making him extend me another favor. I just couldn't go very fast in reverse, even though speed is an essential component to performing doughnuts. 

My sister flipped the Jetta a couple months ago. I salvaged it for $400 and added another $500 to pay for a motorcycle. On my way to a distant bank location one day, it crossed my mind that I had never thanked "Bob" for fixing my tranny. After finding the right road, I rolled down to his garage--or what used to be. No one there. Pulling back up to his house, I comfortably--and somewhat pridefully--alighted my bike and rang the doorbell. "Bob" answered the door. I explained who I was; he vaguely remembered me. I thanked him. He didn't think much of it, or at least he didn't show it on his face. I was secretly wanting to show him that our rising generation still respects their elders and is grateful for the skill and ethic the grandparents and parents instill into their craft. Maybe it was too late. "Better late than never" may have found an exception.

The conversation was brief. I said goodbye and returned to my bike. In the few steps from the porch to the motorcycle, there was something satisfying about what just happened that shouted, "This is what life is all about. Not all of it, of course, but there is something about a brief and good end to a long story, a favor, a received complement, a gracious understanding that provides closure to unfulfilled words." It was a simple, 5 minute task that connected 4 years of dots. After all, I had been trying to stop by his place any time I went out that way to the bank and never had. One thought, one detour, one conversation consummated four years worth of unsettled soul into contentment.

There's something about the design of life that mystifies me. All that time, I could tell my failed efforts were going against design, or what should be. In a moment, everything fell into its place.