There are many things I don’t do. I don’t chase after buses; there is always another one on the way. I don’t allow anyone to ask me more than three questions at one time; after the third question, it becomes an automatic interrogation. And I don’t ask anyone for anything (if I MUST, I only ask once!); I don’t like to be told “no” and I don’t like to feel as if I must depend on someone else to achieve something or get something I want.
Since you brought it up, let’s talk about having to depend on other people.
I remember once almost crashing into a mountain during a plane ride to a remote island somewhere on the other side of the world. It was vacation time and I needed to get away from my coworkers pronto! The turbulence on the plane was ridiculous. At first I thought I was just experiencing a major gas attack in surround sound and 3D, but the plane’s sudden drop in altitude quickly let me know that the rumble had nothing to do with my ass, but rather a malfunction under the plane’s hood.
There were probably six other passengers on the plane with me, excluding the pilot. He’d already had a heart attack from the anticipation of exploding on the side of the mountain. I asked the person sitting next to me [frantically] to help me figure out how to put on my parachute. I only asked because (1) he was already locked and loaded into his gear, so he had a few moments to spare before diving out of the plane or walking his soul to the bright light at the end of the tunnel where the escalator to Heaven was, and (2) because the plane was about to crash and I figured I had nothing to lose by asking for help. As expected though, the creep didn’t give me the answer I was looking for – or the help.
He looked at me as if I was asking him to save my life or something (which I was, but that’s not the point…well it is…hey, who’s telling the story here?). The look on his face told me to go to hell in every sign language on the planet (forget pictures, looking death in the eye is worth a thousand words). He couldn’t muster up the gumption to tell me to go kill myself, also that’s what prompted me to ask him for help. Instead, he pushed me out of the way and dove head first out of the plane’s emergency door. I wanted to curse him out, but I was too busy cursing the devil for tampering with the plane’s insides. Thankfully and most assuredly, God was on my side. Almost as if by magic, my parachute attached itself to my body and dragged me waist first out of the plane’s emergency doors. I remember falling endlessly from the sky, praying a multitude of thanks to Jesus, cursing the devil, and spitting. I thought it was a good time to see if I (as I plummeted to dry land, preferably not 6ft below the surface) would beat my spit to the ground. I still don’t know who landed first, me or the spit, but on my way down I passed the jerk that didn’t want to help me with my parachute. In the midst of his free fall, his parachute got tangled up in the wings of a family of passing pigeons. The pigeons carried him for a few seconds until they got tired of holding his fat ass. Then they let him go. Serves his mean ass right. All he had to do was help me. If he’d have done so, luck would have been on his side. Instead – I’m sure – he landed on his back side, or front side. It really didn’t matter. When he crashed into the ground, no doubt his body exploded on impact, crushing all of his bones and liquidating all of his sides – back, front, side, inside – all mush; pudding if you will. Of course I wanted to laugh, but laughing wasn’t an option until I landed safely and French kissed the ground, no matter how dirty it was.
The moral of the story is this: If you can’t, don’t, or won’t do what I humbly ask of you, especially when it kills me to ask in the first place, forget about it. I’ll do it myself or count on Jesus. He never says no. I can depend on Him even when I can’t depend on myself.