---

For the past year the riding lawnmower at the church has not started. Oh, the engine sputtered. It said, “I think I can” but never roared. So, the lifeless mass of partial metal sat in the shed while I conquered the grass and weeds with a push mower and more hours than anticipated.

Last week I cranked it up again but heard nothing except the disappointment of silence. After months of coughing but not starting, the battery was dead. So was the frail optimism that had kept me trying.

Apparently, I am a carrier of false conceit. I knew absolutely nothing about combustion but thought I could fix the problem by doing what I had already done. Each time I mounted the mower and twisted the key, the ruh-ruh-ruh-ruhhhhhh of almost success signaled failure. Yet, not to be deterred, the efforts were repeated.

No call was made to a mechanic. The hood was not lifted. I had jumped aboard, thrown my leg over the cushioned seat … all in old-man fashion, and twisted the key as if there was a magic in my presence that would eventually inspire ignition.

Oh, the seat had been lifted and the gas checked. In fact, the tank was topped off with fresh fuel in hopes that the blend of old and new would remedy the crisis. Truthfully, I should have followed the game-show advice and called a friend. Having little knowledge and too much pride made me a poor equipment manager.

After twelve months of frustration, I grew weary of complimenting myself on the straight lines created by pushing the mower. I wiped my brow, tossed the application for Cooter’s Engine School, and shared the problem with my friend Tony.

“Sounds like a dirty filter. Have you got a battery charger?” What a know-it-all and immediate response!

“Of course, I have a charger,” I replied with unfounded indignation.

He must have seen me wince at the mention of an air filter. In the past 365 days that thought should have crossed my mind. The only saving grace is that the charger was in the truck.

Now I don’t want to give Tony all the credit. If I do, what glory is there for me? Sure, he cleaned the filter and attached the battery cables. His grin was well earned as smoke puffed and the engine growled after the first ruh-ruh.

Yet, false conceit reared its ugly head again. I assured myself that the gas mixture must have had something to do with it. Who knows?  My skills might be improving. I may even learn to check the oil in a year or so.

However, before the mower’s dip stick is attended to, I need to address the dip stick with the white beard and the greater problem. Tony saved the day … again. Unfortunately, my bruised ego almost balked at praising him. That’s an engine failure too.

Sometimes a filter change is synonymous with an attitude adjustment. I definitely need a tune-up.