The breaking point didn't happen at my desk, but on the shoulder of I-90. Fast forward a few days, and I’m stranded in the pouring rain with a blowout on my rear driver-side tire. I called my brother, a heavy diesel mechanic, because despite managing fleets, I am useless with a jack. When he finally pulled up behind me, it was pitch black, raining sideways, and the only light we had was a rinky-dink flashlight he kept in his glove box. I was holding the light for him, shivering and complaining about how I couldn't see anything past the wheel well. I was ranting about the danger, how we couldn't see the oncoming semis until they were right on top of us, and how I hated not having a floodlight to see the whole highway. My brother, wiping grease and rain off his forehead, just looked up at me and said, "Dave, quit trying to see the exit ramp. You don't need to see the whole road. You just need to see the lug nuts. Just shine the light on my hands." That’s when the logistics of faith finally clicked. A moment from Sunday School jumped right into my head: Your word is a lamp for my feet. Not a GPS system for the horizon. Not a drone shot of the entire journey. A lamp for my feet. Just enough light for the very next step.
That realization didn't magically fix my bank account or make the decision about the lease easy, but it completely changed how I managed the "inventory" of my stress. I realized that God operates on a Just-in-Time (JIT) delivery system, not a 5-year stockpile model. I went home that night, looked at my terrifying "Master Plan," and realized I was trying to solve problems that hadn't even been manufactured yet. I started applying what I now call "The Flashlight Theory." If God only gives me enough light for today, then I am only strictly liable for the weight of today. To make this practical, I stopped looking at the horizon and started focusing on the immediate "lug nuts" in front of me:
- Audit the Immediate: Instead of worrying about retirement in 30 years, I asked, "What is the one right financial move I can make this morning?"
- Trust the Driver: In my job, once the cargo is loaded, the driver is responsible for the route. I realized I’m the cargo, not the dispatcher.
- Execute the Next Micro-Step: Sometimes, "walking humbly" isn't a grand gesture; it's just finishing the tax form in front of me or sending one awkward email.
The anxiety about the unknown future still hovers at the edges - that’s human nature - but now when it creeps in, I look down at my feet. I check my heart. I read a few verses to recalibrate my compass. It turns out, whether you are moving freight across the country or moving your soul through life, the methodology is the same: You don't need to see the destination to keep moving forward; you just need enough light to take one step without tripping.
