I have known for a very long time that every day has 24 hours, every hour has 60 minutes and every minute has 60 seconds. I want to thank my first grade teacher for drilling this information into a rather thick skull. This information, along with a lot of other information, has helped me get through life up to this point.

I also know every week has seven days except for the Beatles, who think there are “Eight Days a Week.” I am not sure how they got up to that point, but I have sometimes felt that way myself.

Sometimes a day feels longer than the 24 hours allotted to it. Moreover, I think some hours that are much longer than the 60 minutes they are supposed to be limited to.

This past week, however, brought me to a new level of understanding. Although every day has 24 hours, I did experience a day that had at least one thousand hours to it; each hour an excruciating moment in time.

It all began quite innocently enough. The Gracious Mistress of the Parsonage asked me a very simple question. I have been married long enough to know that there is no such thing as your wife asking a simple question. I guess in my old age I am beginning to forget a few things.

My wife simply asked, “Is there any gas in your truck?”

On the surface, it looked rather simple and in the moment and being caught off guard, as I usually am, I answered very listlessly, “Yes, the tank is full of gas.”

Thinking this was the end of the conversation I began walking away. As I walked away, I heard the echo of my wife’s voice following me.

“Would you mind,” she said, “if our granddaughter and I borrow your truck for today? We need to do some shopping across town.”

This, as you may well guess, is wrong on several levels.

First, why did they need my truck to go shopping? On the surface all I could see was $’s. How much shopping are you going to do if you need a truck?

Second, the most important angle, is borrowing my truck! A man’s truck is a man’s truck. Need I say more? A real man does not borrow his truck out to anyone. There is something personal about a man’s truck. It is the only place where he can surround himself with silence and where he is “King of the road.”

“I didn’t think you would mind,” she said as she reached for the keys to the truck. After some struggle, I finally surrendered the keys.

“We will not be back for lunch,” she said as she raced towards the door, “so you are on your own for lunch.”

Then, to add insult to injury she shouted, “And, you can use my car if you need to go somewhere.”

That will be the day! I was tempted, just tempted for a moment, to drive her car around and use up all her gas. I toyed with the idea and jingled the keys in my hand and then I realized I would be the one to put the gas in her car.

It certainly was a long day. Occasionally I glanced out the window to where my truck used to be parked. No truck. Sadness has its levels, if you know what I mean.

Several hours after my granddaughter and wife left, I got a text. Now I know why men die before their wives. When I read the text my heart was about to attack me.

It seems, how, I will never know, but there was a hole in my tire probably put there by some nail. And she needed to have the tire fixed and was just informing me that she was going to do that.

My tire! A hole in my tire!

The last time I drove my precious truck there was no hole in the tire. Everything was in good shape when I drove it last. But now that my wife is driving it, a hole suspiciously appears in my tire.

If you have ever owned a truck, you know exactly what was taking place. That hole in the tire was my truck reaching out for me to come help it. I think my truck thought that if the tire was not working it would end this whole charade. Unbeknownst to my truck, my wife, undaunted by the situation, had my truck tire fixed.

The hours struggled on and it seemed like an eternity. I ate my lunch in silence, staring out the window where my truck used to be parked; now an empty space.

After one thousand hours of excruciating pain, I heard my truck pull into the driveway. As I gazed out the window, I saw the back of the truck piled high with “stuff. But there it was, safely in the driveway.

Sometimes attachments can cause you a lot of anxiety. Only one attachment in my life worth all the anxiety in the world. That is my relationship with Jesus Christ. Sometimes I do have an anxious moment but then I turn to the Scripture.

I have this marvelous promise. “Thou wilt keep himin perfect peace, whosemind isstayed on thee: because he trusteth in thee” (Isaiah 26:3).

When my mind is on the Lord, I don’t mind anything else in the world.