One time when I was in college and working at a youth ministry called Jacob’s Well, I ran out of gas in my truck. We had been doing something away from our building–I can’t remember what, and I had a truck full of kids with me. In spite of my dad’s warnings, I was really bad about getting gas. I would leave it off until I was pretty sure I was going to run out on the way to the gas station, but I never did. This time, though, I put it off too long, and the truck sputtered for a while on the highway on our way back to the building, and then gave out completely as I was merging to the off-ramp. Fortunately, it was late enough and, well, Abilene enough that there was no traffic, so I just let the truck coast, hoping that there was enough momentum to make the quarter-mile or so to our building’s parking lot. I made it, but just barely. I coasted into that parking lot on nothing but a prayer. And as I’m trying to finish the first of my final papers right now, I’m totally out of gas, just barely coasting, hoping that I can manage enough momentum to do a good job on it, and knowing that if I make it, it’ll be on nothing but a prayer.