A ray of sunshine pierces through my bedroom curtain, gently waking me from a deep sleep. I love Saturday mornings in Southern California. What should I do today? Go to the beach? Play Frisbee with my German Shorthair dog, Sam? Or hang out with friends on our stingray bikes?
Dad startles me with a booming knock on my bedroom door. "Get up. We're going to volunteer on the church construction project today with the rest of the youth group."
Why does Carl always ruin my Saturday asking for help? "I hate working at church!" I yell back with typical teenage attitude.
As I sweep construction garbage into a pile, my mind reels. So many Saturdays are ruined by Carl and the unreasonable requests he makes of the students in his youth group. I'll show him. Reaching into his tool box, I lift a pair of shiny, new yellow-handled tin snips and slip them into my pocket.
In Romans 7:15, Paul writes, "I don't really understand myself, for I want to do what is right, but I don't do it. Instead, I do what I hate." I know it's wrong to steal. But when the Holy Spirit pricks my conscience with the words, "Return the tin snips now!" my actions scream a resounding, "No!"
The yellow-handled tin snips come out of my tool box hundreds of times over the next 31 years: rebuilding my '56 Chevy pickup; finishing the basement in our house; renovating the church building where I serve as the senior pastor. And each time, pride prompts me to silence God's gentle nudge to repent. I resist in my thoughts. It doesn't matterI was just a teenager; it was so long ago, Carl wouldn't care; and I'm not going to be a softie and make a fool of myself.
My career as a pastor had been incredibly successful. And then it happens. For some unknown reason, my efforts lack results. It feels like God is distant. For three years, I plead for God's help. His silence is haunting. Month after month I beg, "Please God, I need you."
Deep within, I sense a stirring of my conscience. Though the words aren't audible, they're irrefutably clear to my spirit, "It's time to give Carl his tin snips." In brokenness and despair I respond, "I'll do it. But how?"
Within hours, God answers in the form of a phone call. I'm shocked to hear a voice on the other end that I hadn't heard for 34 years, saying, "This is Carl. Our pastor recently resigned. Would you be interested in flying out to California to speak next weekend?"
I'm blown away by his invitation. "Yes, I'd love to come."
A few days later, I reach into my tool box to retrieve the faded yellow-handled tin snips, now scarred by 34 years of use. I carefully slide them into a brown paper lunch sack and slip the package into my suitcase.
Carl picks me up at John Wayne International Airport. I organize the words I want to say as Carl leads me into his house, the house he purchased from my parents when I headed off to college. He invites me to stay in the bedroom that had been mine throughout high school.
Within minutes, I open my suitcase and remove the package representing my sin. Sheepishly, I confess to Carl, "In this paper bag is a pair of yellow-handled tin snips I stole from you when I was 15 years old. I'm sorry for taking them."
As I hand the package to Carl, a weight mysteriously lifts from deep within my soul. Carl graciously accepts the worn-out tool and my heartfelt apology.
Paul asks in Romans 7:24-25, "Who will free me from this life that is dominated by sin and death? Thank God! The answer is in Jesus Christ our Lord."
Like Paul, I want so badly to do what is right, but often find myself doing what is wrong. And now, with each failure, I'm learning to respond more readily with "yes" rather than "no" whenever God stirs my conscience, instructing me to repent and confess my sin.
