Running on Empty 

My first car was a 1972 Ford Escort, vintage even then. It had a few quirks - a radiator like a sieve, a dislike of hot weather, and a mis calibrated petrol gauge. When the fuel needle was sitting on 10%, it actually meant the tank was empty and that the $5 worth of petrol I put in once a week was gone. I’ve been reminiscing about that car recently, as the phrase ‘running on empty’ keeps coming to mind.

After 2 ½ years of ‘the new normal’ (which I won’t detail because we’re all sick of COVID stories), precarious pivoting between teaching face-to-face and online, and lots of sudden changes to my family’s plans, I’ve realised that my emotional tanks, the reserves I usually fall back on when stressed, are running pretty low.

This is expressed in unusual levels of fatigue, a poor memory, and less resistance to the things life brings my way. Perhaps you feel the same … a bit thinly spread, or as if there’s not quite enough fuel in the tank?

The sensation of running on empty is helping me realise just how much I have relied on myself and my own resources in the past, rather than relying on God. The temptation now is to make a plan and strategise to fix myself, as I would usually do, but I feel as if that may not be the point.

Instead, I’m trying to accept that being out of fuel and in need of help is okay; to recognise that self-reliance can only take me so far; and to acknowledge that the God who lovingly invites us to come to Him has compassion for our human frailty.

In the Bible, Jesus says: “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” I don’t have all the answers. But I am wondering what it might look like to simply accept His invitation. Will you consider joining me?