Flat Tire Theology

For the last few months, I’ve been asking people what they personally want out of their relationship with a nonprofit. I push them past the easy answers—“to make a difference,” “to help those in need”—and ask what they want for themselves.

Some answers make me laugh. (Thank you, Keith, for saying that for a five-figure gift you expect “fame, fortune, and a beautiful wife.”)

Most are more practical. The most common? Parents want their families—especially their kids—to see the messiness of the world. They hope that by engaging with a nonprofit that serves those in need, their children will gain a broader perspective. They want their kids to step outside the safety bubble and pick up some grit.

My parents never set out to teach me that lesson. But they owned junkyards, and you can’t grow up in a junkyard without learning it. When everything around you is a tetanus infection waiting to happen, you adapt.

That junkyard was my training ground. I learned to fix things when the plan fell apart, work alongside people from every walk of life, and stay calm when things got messy. 

Years later, when I found myself in the Belize jungle surrounded by killer bees and scorpions, I wasn’t comfortable—but I wasn’t rattled. Same in the slums of Haiti, or in dark bamboo huts somewhere in Myanmar hearing painful stories, or over meals in Zimbabwe that looked nothing like the food back home.

I wasn’t safe. But I could operate without panicking.

Here’s a story worth remembering.

One sweltering summer when I was sixteen, I was working with Jesse—a classic junkyard guy, built like a brick wall. We were delivering parts in an old Datsun pickup when a tire went flat. There was a spare but no jack.

So Jesse lifted the entire truck off the ground while I scrambled to change the tire. “Hurry!” he barked as I fumbled with the lug nuts. We were like a low-budget pit crew—only one of us seemed to be on steroids.

Nobody came to rescue us. No orange safety cones. No mobile phones. We figured it out because that’s what you did.

Experiences like that were good for me. By the time I was sixteen, I didn’t even think of the flat tire story as unique.  Obviously these mini-adventures shaped my personality, but they also, in their weird way, impacted my theology. Things can work even when things go wrong.

If we never let kids experience life without a jack, partnered with someone from another country who spoke English as a second language, on the side of the road with a long list of deliveries they have to make, how will they navigate the world? How will they make the leap from the junkyard to the jungle?

Parents tell me they want their kids to “see the bigger world” and grow into generous adults. But too often, they want that without the discomfort that shapes real character. They want the experience without the grit.

You can’t appreciate the world—or love it well—if you never step outside the bubble. And you can’t learn to navigate discomfort without first feeling it.

So back to my initial research. People want their generosity to create authentic relationships. Especially for their families. Fair enough.

But if you really want authentic relationships, model authentic generosity. Give without a safety net. Whether it’s in a junkyard or a jungle, give your kids real opportunities to be stretched. Let them meet people whose lives look nothing like theirs. Let them wrestle with questions that don’t have easy answers.

Because the world doesn’t need more adults who are experts at staying safe. It needs more who are ready to step into the mess with courage, compassion, and generosity.