A Nudge to Budge

I was shopping at my favorite tool store when I ran into one of the horticulturists from our county extension center. After we exchanged greetings, she reminded me of the potluck lunches the center hosts every month during the winter for area master gardeners who volunteer in the community garden.

I had a perfect non-attendance record for these winter social affairs and hadn’t planned on ruining it anytime soon. But there’s something about a personal invite. I told her thanks, I might come.     

A few weeks later, on the day of the next gathering, I was still content to be in the consideration phase. I was shopping at the same store when I saw another horticulturist. We exchanged greetings, and then, you guessed it, he invited me to the potluck lunch. I offered my only real excuse: I hadn’t prepared a dish. He said come anyway.

That made two personal invites. That was enough. I swung by the grocery, picked up some chicken legs, and had way more fun socializing than I had expected. 

So often with me it takes a little nudge, or in that case two, to get me moving. I think back to a time where it took seven, and they came out of the blue.

I was driving my old Ford woody wagon home from a hard day at the mines. (This is not a metaphor for a strenuous day at work; I actually was working in an underground coal mine at the time.) It was about 1:30 a.m. and I was forcing my eyelids to stay open. When I reached my hometown, I was dreaming about the comfortable bed awaiting me.

That’s when I noticed a car creeping up behind me. No other vehicles were in sight. I could make out the silhouette of an extra strip of lights on top.

That quick I was wide awake. This couldn’t be good. My plates were expired, a headlight and taillight weren’t working, and I can’t remember what else. I expected to see flashing blue any moment.

Needless to say, I came to a full stop at the intersection. But the car behind me didn’t. It bumped me. Not too hard, but enough to give me a near heart attack.

Since I was only 22 and had just spent a shift with some spirited and vocal miners, I had a strong urge to jump out and protest. But despite youthful impulsiveness, I refrained due to my vehicular negligence.

I continued toward home. The police followed too closely and gave me another tap when I stopped again. This time I could see two faces, illuminated by my single brake light. They were young. They were grinning. I was in trouble. I would be safer back in the mine.

Five bumps later, I turned into my driveway. The boys in blue drove on. I doubted if they would have that much fun again anytime soon.

The next day I paid a visit to the courthouse and the auto parts store. Even at 22 I wasn’t totally stupid.

Sometimes a nudge or two—or seven—will do it, but other times it may require something more fiery. 

That happened to me 60 years ago at Hollow Rock Holiness Camp near Toronto, Ohio. For the kids, the week I stayed was mostly fun and games. The only downside for me was spending an hour every day with the pots and pans in the kitchen and attending the evening preaching.

The services were held nightly in a mammoth open-air shelter. I sat on the stage behind the preacher with the children’s choir. I might’ve behaved through an hour sermon, but this particular speaker could keep going strong for twice that.

One particular night, after the first hour of fire-and-brimstone, the preacher obviously was just warming up. I wasn’t paying much attention, though occasionally he would say “hell” loudly enough to refocus everyone to the subject of salvation. He had been using that word every night, and I had been uncomfortable. Some decisions in my life I’d managed to keep on the back burner.

Instead of praying for my soul, however, I searched for some entertaining distraction to get me through the evening. Just two nights ago a bat had swooped through the building to snag its supper. Maybe it was getting hungry again. As it turned out, though, something other than a flying mammal took wing that steamy August evening.

I was sitting there minding my own business when a giant paper wad caught me in the head. At the other end of the row Fred looked innocent enough, but I was sure he was the culprit.

I grabbed a song sheet and folded it into a paper airplane. It flew low and caught Fred just below the ear. Justice was served, and that should’ve been the end of it. Then I noticed song sheet number two under my chair.

I launched a new glider design in Fred’s direction. Things looked promising until it banked at the last second and sailed into the sanctuary between the preacher and the first row of pews. Perfect landing, by the way.

The intensity of the sermon went up a notch. I could almost smell the sulfur in the air. I no longer had any doubts about where I was headed when I died. No more shenanigans for me. No one in the building was more thankful to hear him finally wrap up the sermon.

Still, there was a long way to go before we were dismissed. Just As I Am has seven verses, and the night before the preacher had gone through all of them at least twice. We were down to the fourth verse, the second time around, when it happened. I thought the preacher had forgotten about us kids, but he suddenly turned towards the choir. He looked directly at me. It didn’t take a prophet to pick out the junior aeronautical engineer, the one with thick geeky glasses and a guilty look. He said, “Son, you need to get right.” He didn’t have to tell me twice.

I joined the masses at the altar. I got scared into heaven that night. A little coercive maybe, but that’s what it took.

What happened after that was even crazier. I started laughing and couldn’t stop. I must’ve looked like an idiot and sounded like a hyena walking around the campgrounds after the service. I usually worry about what people think. But the funny thing is, I didn’t care that night. 

In retrospect, I’m thankful for all the people who have looked out for me. They’ve helped me climb up a rung on the social ladder, become more responsible, and remove my doubts about my eternal destination.

That’s the power of a good, healthy nudge.

Feature photo by Ashley Jurius on Unsplash