Our clothes dryer died a few weeks ago—clothes spinning but no heat. We kicked it, shook it, and prayed over it to no avail. It was like a death in the family. Amy and I have had this faithful servant for the duration of our twenty-year marriage. So when Amy declared, “Guess it’s time for a new dryer,” I flinched a bit.  First, because dryers are expensive. I don’t easily part with my money. Secondly, I am a man. And men fix things. I told Amy that I was fully capable of restoring the dryer to good working order. She smiled and kept browsing the online ads for new dryers.

I puffed out my chest and shouted, “I’m good at fixing things. You’ll see!” It’s part of the rhythm of manhood.  So I fix things at home, at work, around the yard. I love to see a project come together. However, in more honest moments, I admit that I am a bad fixer.  The word fixer should actually be removed from my description. Perhaps, breaker or oaf? Incompetent will also do. The truth is that most of what I fix needs re-fixing. It’s embarrassing. Somehow my man-card got lost in the swirl of creation and I was left with a general dissonance around all things mechanical. But I am not deterred. I bought a tool belt. I hung tools in my garage. I tell myself, I am a fixer. It doesn’t seem to help. It’s just expensive.

I fixed a 3-pole light switch last year. It cost me $300 for an electrician to undo the fiasco. I changed the oil in my car. It later cost me $2500 for a new (rebuilt) engine when the oil leaked out. I fixed the garbage disposal. My father-in-law had to come and re-fix it.

I’m a lousy fixer.

This also plays itself out in a hundred different ways in my relationships.  I see clearly what needs to be fixed in my wife. I evaluate the broken circuits in my children. It’s obvious where my friends need a tweak and upgrade. So I go to fixing. I don’t ask. Surely they will be grateful for my soul-tinkering. In fact, I feel emboldened to fix people. I’ve been told it’s my job. Isn’t that what pastors do–aren’t we supposed to fix people?

However, my track record with fixing people isn’t much better than my record with fixing things. I usually cause more damage than was originally there. Reluctantly, I call in the professional. The Creator of all things. He isn’t just the fixer or the cleanup crew–He’s the designer of relationships, friendships, hearts, and souls. He knows where the broken places are and gently, quietly, often with no fanfare, He heals. We wake up one morning and the light is back on in our hearts. The clog in the line has been cleared and living water is running again.

We can patch things up for a while. Relational duct tape, or something along those lines. However, for real life change, we need The Fixer. The One who isn’t deterred by our broken lives, but was motivated to take on flesh and walk with us.

I still like to fix things, by the way. I did fix that old dryer. Four trips to the appliance supply store, three hours on Youtube, and $32.50 for a replacement part. And I found my man-card that day.