No points, no spark

When it comes to cars and keeping them on the road well past any reasonable expectation, no one does it better than my husband.

A case in point that almost proved to be the exception to that rule, stumped both Danny and our then-neighbor, Vern, no slouch himself in the automotive field.

The car was blue. I remember that much. It was also a Ford sedan. It was old, but it didn't smoke or use oil and the glass and tires were all good, so when it developed a miss in the engine, Danny deemed it worthy of a tune-up.

Then, as now, I was his "mechnic," a home-coined term for the person who stands at the ready to hand the mechanic various tools or to turn the pages of the motor manual, protecting them from grease and grime. Another frequent job for any mechnic was to tap the ignition switch to advance the timing.

I was as much help that day as I could be, considering I also had three small children to tend to. Still, I did my best to be of some help, without getting in the way (another good mechnic quality).

All to no avail. Although the car was running when Danny took things apart, now that everything was back in place, new wires, new plugs, etc., it wouldn't start. It turned over like a champ, over and over and over again, but it simply would not catch.

Even those who limit their automotive skill to changing the oil or the turn signal lights, know how quickly frustration builds when things don't go smoothly. This is where neighbor Vern found Danny late in the afternoon. A good ol' boy, he joined Danny at the front of the car and they both repeatedly retraced Danny's steps, jiggling wires and checking spark plug gaps. Now both of them were frustrated, but the more frustrated they became, the more determined they were to solve this problem and get that engine started.

Summoned once again to man the ignition, I heard them exclaim, shaking their heads, after each failed try, "Should run." While waiting for the next command to "try it again," my eyes wandered across the dashboard. There, just to the right of the steering wheel, lay a small metal part, consisting of a lever of some sort situated on a cylindrical base.

"What's this?" I asked, holding it up for the menfolk to see.

Their response was a sight to behold. When they looked at what I had in my hand, their jaws dropped and their eyes went wide. Immediately, the offending item was snatched from my grasp as they began to laugh. At themselves. I had unwittingly discovered why what should run, couldn't run. Those were the points. (For those lacking in automotive lingo and those only familiar with vehicles manufactured since the 1980s, points provide the spark to the coil, which sends the spark to the distributor, which provides the spark to each cylinder. No points, no spark.)

Such a small, thing, hidden to perform its vital function, they couldn't see what was missing because everything else was in place.

"Should run."

We seem to be in a similar situation today in America. The debate over health care -- who should get it, who should pay for it -- garners more attention every day.

Similar debates have occurred through the years as limited resources, needed by everyone, were completely out of reach for some.

"Something must be done!" has long been the cry. The children are hungry. The babies are naked. There is no shelter.

Each time the cry has gone forth, the government has rallied behind the cause and put in place various programs, stop-gaps and social solutions, none of which have entirely eliminated the problems. In fact, in some cases, government's intercession has made the problem worse -- by requiring such a steep price to help others, those who were called upon to help soon found themselves in need.

As it did on that fall afternoon so many years ago, heads shake as the problems are looked at from every direction, the consensus the same each time, "Should run."

The resources are all there. There is food aplenty. People are hungry.

There are houses sitting empty. Yet people sleep under bridges and in their cars.

Excess clothing is packed into 3- ton bales and shipped overseas to be remanufactured, yet people shiver in the cold, naked to the elements.

Hospitals, doctors, medication are all pretty well readily available, but still, the elderly halve their pills to stretch them and children suffer with raw throats and rasping coughs, their mothers helpless to ease their suffering.

What's missing?

Look. Just there. Down, just a little to the left, covered by bone, muscle and sinew -- something vital has been left out. The points that give the spark to the engine of human compassion have been left on a shelf somewhere, perhaps between the pages of a book too long left unread.

Where is it? What is it? Each of the social ills addressed by the government were never meant to be government's business at all. The compassion that feeds, clothes, shelters and heals springs straight from the heart of the Man who knows what it is to love. And until we discover his love and take it into our own hearts, these needs will continue ... no matter how much regulation and forced compassion is legislated.

"And now I will show you the more excellent way. If I speak in the tongues of men and angels but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge and have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, I gain nothing." I Corinthians 13: 1-3 (NIV)