When I was a boy, I didn’t put much stock into Faith. Sure, I’d seen Angels in the Outfield enough times to sustain Danny Glover’s career, but I was far from a believer in real-life miracles.

Then, my lawn mower broke.

When I say “broke”, I don’t mean old age had finally kicked in. (Although, to be fair, this rusty anthill destroyer had seen better days.) What I mean by “broke” is that I may or may not have forgotten about it being outside for several months of less-than-stellar weather. Then, having just finished an HGTV’s “Fixer Upper” marathon, I thought I could fix it. So, I drove my DIY ass to ACE Hardware and bought some oil, which I proceeded to pour directly into some hole that looked like it needed it. (As it turns out, it was the Air Intake). I couldn’t even pull the cord to get this thing going it was so hydro-locked. I don’t know if you’ve ever seen a fat old man drink too much, but he becomes a useless heap of nothing quicker than an Obama Supporter at a job fair. Needless to say, my lawn mower was now a Fat Old Drunk, and I needed a real-life miracle to get this thing running again.

I swear to god, not even one hour later, I get a knock on my door. I open up, and standing there, back lit by the afternoon sun, was a slender man with flowing hair dancing in the light breeze. “I’m Turbine Jesus”, he told me. “I’m here to fix a lawn mower.”

So there I am, baffled. How did this guy find my house? How did he know about my lawn mower? Why was there a Bright Red Camaro in my front lawn? Before I could muster up the stones to ask any one of those questions, he puts out his hand and says, “Do not worry, my child. If it’s broke, Turbine Jesus will fix it.” Without another word, he walked into my house and bee-lined to my back yard. I didn’t noticed at first, but he had a grocery bag full of random parts and chemicals and a zip ties seemingly pouring out of his pockets. Even with all of my questions, I couldn’t help but let this man take a swing at my broken lawn mower.

I follow TJ out back, and before I can light my cigarette, he’s got my lawn mower dismantled. I take my first puff, and he’s cleaned out all the oil from my engine. I pace around a few times, and watch him undo all the damage that I’ve done. About an hour later, my lawn mower looking like a prop from Mad Max, we gave it a crank and nothing happens. “So it still doesn’t work?” I asked this bearded Swiss Army knife.

“Wait. One more step.” TJ walks over to the lawn mower, and as smooth as the Fonz is around a set of twins, he fist bumps the top of the engine.

Now, at this point, I have no idea what just happened. I’m thinking maybe I just entertained a homeless man for an hour. Maybe I am having a flashback from an acid trip a few years ago. Maybe I’m asleep, and none of this had actually happened. But Gosh Darnit, I’d be lying to you if I didn’t crank that mower up and stood there in awe as it purred like a walrus getting a belly rub. The only word I could say was “thanks”.

“No problem”, he said to me. “Janky Shack will get you on the road”. And just like that, Turbine Jesus was gone.

Now, I wouldn’t say I’m a full on believer in Faith now. Hell, I am not even close. But I do know that if you have a broken thing, and that thing needs a good fixin’, Janky Shack is better than a bus full of drunk sorority girls on your birthday. And that, my friends, is something to believe in.

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