Is it What? Or Which?

There is a sign at a church here in our little town. It asks "Is prayer your steering wheel, or your spare tire?"

How is this even a question?
What does it even mean?
Which answer would be the wrong answer? Aren't both options a viable use of prayer?
Is this really an either/or question?

Steering wheels and tires are both round, and they are both essential parts of a car. Essential parts of steering, driving, directing a car. (At least until joysticks or their equivalent take over, which I fully expect to see become standard before my time is done.)

But they have very different functions.

The tired old apples and oranges comparison doesn't even come close. Apples and oranges both being fruit, as steering and tires are both wheels.

Oranges and potatoes may be a closer simile/metaphor.
Pretzels and popcorn.
Balloons (the hot air kind) and baby carriages. (Do they still make those?)
Kitty cats and Gorillas.

Yes, this sign flummoxes me, every time I pass it. (Usually twice a day.)

I don't know what it means, or how it came to be phrased that way, or whose bright idea it was. It may even have come from a book. "The Half-Baked Signage Suggestions"

But do you know what else?
It has also done what it was intended to do.
It has made this sign-reader take a look at prayer and life, and wonder how and why it's used and when and where.

And, to answer my own question, I am pretty sure that there isn't really a wrong answer for prayer as a directing force. (That includes defining prayer as scientific questioning of how and why the universe works.)

So -- is prayer -- whatever you conceive it to be -- your steering wheel, your spare tire, or maybe a ball bearing? Or a pea. Or maybe even your hula hoop.

Accidents in the News

Local stations are all streaming "Breaking News" of an accident in our area -- an accident that has had the coroner called to the scene. That's not something that happens much out this way, in the rural areas east of Cincinnati.

This news always makes me sit up and pay attention. It's unlikely to be anyone close to me. It could be someone I know. In all likelihood, the victims are known to someone I know, and I ache for their bad news, for their loss.

Even when it is not someone known, I hold my breath and wait to know the names. While I wait, I pray, I pray for the families of the victim -- and I pray that I am not a member of that family. I pray for survivors, and I pray that no one's recovery is impeded by guilt. I pray for those in traffic, and hope they do not have children waiting and wondering at home and alone for them. I pray for those who react and respond, and have to deal with the crumpled cars and flattened bodies and the mixtures of blood and oil and fuel.

When I hear of these accidents, I pray.
I pray hard.

This time, it may not affect me. I pray thanks for that, but I can't forget how the waiting for news feels. I know someone is getting that call, and I know they are hurting. I know someone close who got that call. I know others who have got that call.


I cannot help the unknown sufferers, and probably can't help even if I know them.
But I can pray for them, light a candle, send out comfort and loving.

When I hear of an accident, I pray.
Hard.