"I'm crazy... crazy for feeling so lonely. But I'm crazy... crazy for feeling so blue."
Patsy Cline’s voice has a way of cutting directly through the deafening shop noise like a precision laser. It’s a haunting melody that resonates when the garage doors are closed, my tools put away, and the only thing left is the hum of a tired nervous system. Not overworked, just—tired tonight.
Tonight in particular, this Heart Mechanic is looking at a chassis, which frankly, has seen much better days. For a long time, I’ve identified as a loner—that Aspen tree standing tall in a solitary field, watching its leaves of past relationships drift away in God’s delicate, albeit painful, timing. But I’d be mistaken and remiss to not admit that there’s a certain peace in such solitude. Or so I told myself during those seasons of relational shedding. But lately? The diagnostic codes are coming back with a different story all of their own.
The Overheated Radiator
When you’re dealing with a frame that’s misaligned—where the "piping" in the neck and the lower back is under constant, grinding pressure—your internal cooling system starts failing. We’re wired with a certain threshold for stress, yes. But chronic physical pain is akin to driving a heavy-duty truck through the Mojave in July with a leak in its radiator. Eventually, the pressure builds, that cap blows, and may God help anyone standing too close for comfort when the steam hisses ferociously.
I’ve had to face a hard truth today. My treatment of others has, at times, been less than Christlike. It’s easy to blame the "heat" of the pain. Something we’ve all been guilty of, if I may point out. Nonetheless, a Heart Mechanic isn't exempt from the rules of the road. Actions have consequences. In my impatience and my "mechanical" bluntness, I’ve inadvertently dismantled the very social supports I might’ve needed most in the coming future.
The hope of a post-surgical care team feels more like a pipedream tonight because of the bridges I’ve scorched while my "radiator" was redlining. It’s a heavy realization to acknowledge that the loneliness I feel isn’t just a "feature" of my life. It’s a direct result of my own moral failings.
The Service Manual
When the human heart starts to grind its gears, we have to go back to the original manufacturer’s specifications. Two passages in particular have been echoing in the shop tonight.
James 1:19-20: "My dear brothers and sisters, take note of this: Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry, because human anger does not produce the righteousness that God desires."
And a sobering reminder of the law of this particular body shop—
Galatians 6:7: "Do not be deceived: God cannot be mocked. A man reaps what he sows."
Well, rightfully so, I’ve been sowing seeds of impatience. And because of it, I’m reaping a harvest of silence. It’s a bitter crop, but a necessary one to taste if I’m going to learn how to truly tune a heart—starting with that of my own.
Fueling for the Repair
Before the night shift truly begins, I’m heading to the kitchen for my usual "maintenance fuel." It’s the standard protocol of high-fiber oats reinforced with vital proteins and collagen peptides, a smushed banana for some moderate potassium support, and a bit of faux butter for the texture.
Yes, It’s basic, unrefined fuel. Caveat, it’s what my body needs to keep the wrench turning. I might be short on the extra spices Dole suggested in that strangely timed email, but maybe a "plain" bowl of oats is exactly what a prideful heart needs—a return to the basics of humility and grace.
The Mechanic’s Diagnosis:
Acknowledging where the gears have ground is simply the first step in recalibrating for a smoother ride. A Heart Mechanic’s work is never finished, especially when it comes to the maintenance of one’s own soul. It’s less the idea of being 'fixed' once and for all, than it is of the daily commitment to stay on the bench until the grace is restored and the timing is just so.
The shop lights will steadily glow tonight while I refuel with these oats and some quiet reflection. Tomorrow? It’s a new shift. A fresh opportunity to sow something better than several yesterdays ago. Moral capture from tonight’s thoughts: keep your fluids checked and your speech seasoned with grace.
