ANOTHER RESURRECTION STORY

Every year about this time, I begin to wonder if my faithful servant has made it through another winter. For the past thirty years, Lazarus has always been there to answer the call. I've often thought of upgrading to a newer model although I know it's criminal to even think of replacing such a dutiful helper.

And so, with the weather finally warming up, I knew it was time to reclaim my old Sears Craftsman gas lawn mower from the back of the garage. Somehow, it looked feeble and tired sitting there, as if its winter respite had not been long enough. Its broken discharge chute only added to its forlorn look.

I unscrewed the gas cap. Inside, an empty tank reminded me of the fall day last November when I pushed Lazarus to its absolute limit. As I moved the lawn mover to the top of the driveway, its left front wheel wobbled like a wounded soldier. Lazarus has given so much.

Do I clean it up? I wondered, or should I just try to see if it will start?

For some reason, I turned it over and began scraping matted grass from its undercarriage.Then I tightened a loose screw on the handle. And what about the air filter?  Surely that should be vacuumed.

All the while I knew I was postponing the inevitable.

See if it starts, my inner voice chided.

It was time. I added a bit of gas to the tank, realizing that a full tank would be wasteful if Lazarus would't start. And how could I buy a new mower in this pandemic? Is Home Depot even open these days?

Suddenly the phrase, O ye of little faith, drowned out my soundtrack of my mind.

Sheepishly, I added more gas. Then I primed the carburetor three times before pulling he starter cord. Once, twice, three times.

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Not even a sputter.

I had been at this place before with Lazarus but somehow this seemed different, more hopeless.

I pulled again and again without success. Indeed, it appeared there would be no resurrection this day.

And then I remembered. Running into the house, I grabbed my vice grips and a small plastic cup. How could I have forgotten?

With a few strong tugs, the spark plug came loose. I plunged it into the small cup now filled with gasoline. My father was not much of a mechanic but he did teach me that a clean spark plug could mean the difference between life and death for a motor.

Moments later, filled with hope. I pulled on the starter cord with new found energy. But again, not a peep.. No puff of smoke. No clatter of blades.

But I wasn't to be deterred so easily.

Desperate times call for desperate measures and even miracles need a bit of help sometimes. Removing the spark plug again, I raised Lazarus up until its back wheels were in mid air. Then, carefully, I poured gasoline directly into the spark plug socket hole. I'm not sure if that's a safe thing to do but I was willing to try anything at this point.. Reinserting the spark plug, I got ready for one last try at resuscitating Lazarus. Not sure if the lawn mower would implode when I pulled the cord, I donned a pair of plastic sunglasses that sat forgotten beside four snow tires, giving myself the allusion of protection.

Ready Lazarus? I whispered, before yanking cord. 

The engine coughed.Then a puff of white smoke. I pulled again. More smoke and then finally, what I'd been hoping for, a ROAR!

I ran in the house to tell Terry the good news.

"Lazarus is back! Lazarus is back!" I called out.

                                                       ALLELUIA! ALLELUIA!