Sometimes we rationalize our thinking to the extent that we overlook any possible downside to our decision. This excerpt from my book describes one such time. The tale begins at a U.S. Army base in France, sometime in 1963:

“I … bought a used Vespa scooter. It was a fun ride, great in traffic, and cheap to run. Gas was about a dollar a gallon in France and Germany, while back in the States it was still less than a quarter. Unfortunately, the Vespa was not very reliable, which put me in more danger than the big motorcycle [which I had just sold] ever had.

There was a Navigator retreat over in Germany, and Mick and I decided to go. He would travel by train, but I decided it would be cheaper to ride the Vespa. It was fun for a while until I got on the Autobahn in Germany. There was no speed limit on the Autobahn—not for cars, not for trucks. The Vespa, on a good day, could manage sixty miles per hour. With cars going twice that fast, and trucks speeding by, I trudged along in the right lane. The Vespa decided not to have a good day. On uphill grades, it stalled out completely, and I had to get off and push it along the shoulder of the road. On downhill grades I’d jump back on, and it would run. Thankfully, I found my exit and began a long uphill trek to the lodge where the retreat was taking place. I finally decided I’d had enough. It was getting dark, and I still had a way to go, pushing that stupid Vespa. So I tossed the thing into a ditch and walked the rest of the way. Mick had been concerned because I missed the beginning of the retreat, but he was relieved when I walked into the room.

The retreat was, as usual, well run and a faith-filled time of learning and renewal. It was good to be with these men and to experience the blessing and strengthening of the Holy Spirit.

Over the next day or so, as I explained my plight, one of the men who had an Opel station wagon offered to go with me to pick up the Vespa and take it to town for repairs. We found it still lying in the ditch and hoisted it out to put it in the car. It wouldn’t fit. However, I had an idea, one of those “Here, hold my beer and watch this” moments (although I was completely sober). My friend produced a rope, one end of which we tied to his rear bumper and the other end of which we looped around the handlebar of the Vespa. He got in the car and I got on the Vespa, and we headed down the twisting, narrow mountain road. I did not have time to enjoy what I’m certain was the lovely scenery as we descended, because I was riding the brakes to keep from crashing into the Opel. We finally arrived at a repair shop, where I explained to the mechanic in fractured German that my Vespa would not go and that I’d be back the next day and would he  fix it, please? “Ja,” he said.

I picked up the supposedly repaired Vespa and headed for home. The trip back to base was even worse than the outbound journey had been. It involved another breakdown on the Autobahn, a ride in a German moving van, emergency bunking at a base in Karlsruhe, Germany, another attempt at repair, a third breakdown in an obscure German village, leaving the Vespa in the care of a bewildered gas station owner in said village, a ride in a German gasoline tanker to a train station where, ironically, I boarded a train to take me back to the base. Saved a lot of money on that trip.”

Excerpt From: Robert Frohlich. “Aimless Life, Awesome God.” Apple Books. https://books.apple.com/us/book/aimless-life-awesome-god/id1129891739

I can imagine the scene in heaven when God, my loving Father, sighed deeply and said, “OK Bob, my stubborn and foolish child, I will get you home safely, because I have plans for you.”

Psalms 32:8 (ESV) I will instruct you and teach you in the way you should go; I will counsel you with my eye upon you.