Stalled

Monday morning, 9:35 a.m. I am sitting in my ’97 Honda Accord, stubbornly turning the key in the ignition for the fifth time. The car springs to li— … no, it doesn’t. Once again, it fails to turn over, growling, making that er-er-er-er-er sound that comes with weather under 50 degrees.

I am stalled. The car is reasonably warm inside. My fingers are stiff, my nose is running, but it’s tolerable. I try starting it again. Er-er-er-er-er…

9:45. I call my workplace, Kansas City Rescue Mission, to tell them the obvious. I’m late to work. I open my laptop and answer emails in the car. I listen to NPR. I feel so trapped.

A coworker calls to ask if he can come get me. “No, I’m fine,” I say.

I know this will happen again and again this winter. I know my husband wants me to get a new car. I know there are people out there who want to help me and I know I need help, yet here I sit, trying to do this on my own.

It reminds of the guys who line up at the door for check-in each night. And I juxtapose them against the guys in KCRM’s Christian Community of Recovery. At some point, guys in the check-in line must think, “I’ve been doing this over and over, and it’s just not working. I oughta ask for help.” Then they do or they don’t. Some get on the recovery program; some just sit and turn the key again and again with the same results.