When I was far younger than I am now, in a land far, far away, I spent a week in the home of life-long friends from my parents' generation. Gary and Ladean are lovely people. They don't have much, but all they have is yours, if they but sense a need. I was their house guest while engaged teaching over the course of several days at their congregation.

Now between the two of them, Gary and Ladean have only two faults. And both belong to Gary.

One is Gary's sense of humor--wickedly dry and partial to practical jokes. The stories are numerous and the stuff of legend. The other includes the sum of his television viewing habits. You see, Gary has never actually watched a television program in its entirety. Gary with a remote is sort of like a Clint Eastwood character with a gun. He's not going to hold it very long without using it. And the witnesses, stunned, are left to wonder just what happened. 

I was aware of Gary's eccentricities ahead of my visit, and I had an answer for both. On a previous stay I had discovered that Gary and Ladean owned the very make and model of television I had at home. So, when I packed for my week, I included a couple of books, clothes and toiletries, and my Sony remote control.

Each night the three of us would come in from worship and sit down in front of the television for a short respite before bed. And each night--from Gary's vantage point--his television behaved more and more freakishly. The odd behavior began slowly, but, by week's end, it had become quite unpredictable. Early in the week, the volume would fluctuate from silent to "can't-hear-myself-think"; by week's end, Gary could never quite peg the station he wanted. He always landed one or two channels beyond his intention.

By the end of my stay, Gary was visibly agitated; he suspected that, at the least, I had rewired his remote. He had no idea that I had my own remote hidden away by my thigh. On our last night together, I pulled out all stops. In one last hurrah before "the reveal," the television began to inexplicably, furiously, jump from one channel to the other. Sort of like Linda Blair's head spin in The Exorcist; even as Gary held his silent remote, staring at me--half confused, half frightened. Gary, I'm convinced, grew certain that either his television or his house guest was possessed with some odious spirit.

When I finally revealed my remote and a smile, Gary's countenance brightened, knowing he'd been had, but at least grateful that his remote was demon-free and wired according to factory specs.

Remotes are everywhere in our homes these days. They are far removed from their technological ancestors, the "clicker" that controlled my grandparent's television set. In fact, in some cases--including Apple's iPod, for example--the remote has become the machine.

From time to time, I've wondered what it would look like to have a remote to manage my life. Perhaps a back arrow that would give me a "do-over." Certainly a pause button for those moments when time threatens to get away. Maybe even a fast forward button to move me quickly through periods of uncertainty and anxiety.

In fact, use your own imagination. If the pocket-size remote below were programmed to be of use to you, how might each of the buttons behave? Seriously, spend a few moments and design your fantasy remote. How much would you pay for such a technological wonder?        

Now, consider this...mightn't we already have many of the advantages of such a remote control, and yet we have not fully appreciated their worth? For instance, as long as we have breath and a measure of humility, don't we have the equivalent of a "do-over"? How many of the buttons on your fantasy remote control are actually more functional than you might have originally imagined?

So, here's the aha! The remote control was not designed to do things that couldn't otherwise be done. The remote control was designed to do what we'd like done, but with a minimum of effort! With a remote control we expend very little effort to make the necessary changes: we change the programming; we adjust the volume; we modify the speaker balance. All without leaving our seat. It works great on a television or stereo, but not so much on a soul seeking lasting change.

The bad news/good news then is this. The chances of finding such a remarkable control for our lives is, well, remote; however, with a willingness to engage in the difficult, often messy, work of relationship-based spiritual formation, a magical remote control has nothing to offer that you are not fully equipped to do.