Why a Tow Truck Reminds Me of God
Tow Truck Driver
It’s funny how a person has a conversation with a complete stranger. Strange how you share things you would not normally share when you’re put together by unforeseen circumstances.
It’s interesting how, sitting a mile high in a Triple A Truck and riding in the dark, you learn things about the nice, old geezer you’d never think to ask in any other public place. Yet inside the cab of that truck, rolling along, there was nothing else to do. We could visit – or remain sullenly silent.
If you know anything about me, you know what happened. Obviously, this man was used to conversing with his passengers.
Talking passes the time
For sixty-three miles, we talked (except when he stopped to pick up a soft drink so he could stay awake). I learned about his dogs – all nine of them. He told me about his wife and his retirement. I learned about the jobs he held in the past and why they didn’t have any kids. He shared about his travels and I told him about my boy, spending two weeks in the Philippines, and then heading to India in a few weeks under Compassion International.
He learned my husband was coming north after helping with hurricane relief under CAM (Christian Aid Ministries). I was going south from Maryland. One daughter was traveling west from Richmond; the other coming east from Virginia Tech – and by midnight, we’d all be home together.
Later, he deposited my vehicle at my front door and handed me the keys. Then he drove off into the darkness. I’ll probably never see him again.
No other place to be
Now, I grant you, having that conversation helped pass the time. Since I had no control of my situation, I had nothing else to do until I got home.
Sometimes, I think, it would be easier to spend time with Jesus if I had no other place to go for sixty-three miles in the cab of a tow truck. No other distractions and just a destination in sight, for sure.
It’s easy to get distracted by other things or get side-tracked, wanting to just throw in this load of laundry or empty the dishwasher before I sit down. It’s easy to think I’ll do this later – and then later never comes.
The sad thing is that, though there is a seat designed for us, too often it sits empty. This mercy seat is always available, a place to meet at the Throne.
A symbol – the Ark of the Covenant
In the wanderings of the Children of Israel, they carried the Ark of the Covenant. It was a box of acacia wood overlaid with gold. The lid of this “ark” was covered with pure gold, and called the Mercy Seat.
Once a year, the High Priest stepped past the curtain in the tabernacle, into the Holy of Holies to sprinkle blood on this seat – to make atonement for the sins of the people. On the top of the golden lid sat two cherubims facing each other. It was there, between those Cherubims, that God wanted to meet with His people.
Then Jesus came. He took down the curtain that separated the Holy of Holies from the people. He became the Lamb. No other lambs must be slain, ever again. No other blood sprinkled on that Mercy Seat because Jesus became the ultimate, perfect sacrifice. He is our Great High Priest.
The curtain is gone!
Now we can go directly to God through Jesus.
There is no curtain separating us from the Holy Place. We don’t need a priest to represent us. We don’t need to sprinkle blood for our sins. All we have to do is climb up on that mercy seat and bare our souls to Him. I think we can say it’s a little like sitting in the passenger side of that tow truck going full speed ahead, chatting away about life.
No matter what storms or winds come our way, no matter what difficulties or break-downs occur in our lives, there is Someone to call. There is a place to go.
At this Mercy Seat, the ground is equal and level. Scripture says we should come there, and we should come boldly. Let’s do it. Every day.
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There is a song about that Mercy Seat. I love four-part acapella music, and this song is sung by The Mennonite Hour. Listen to it and appreciate the imagery in these words.
Listen to the song here.
