When I was a teenager I overlooked a lot of things. Oblivious is a word that comes to mind. This caused me to make a lot of mistakes, some of which were more costly than others. One of the more costly of those mistakes was when I neglected to put oil in my car for almost a year.

Now, the car I drove throughout most of high school was a light green 1992 Toyota Tercel, affectionately dubbed by friends as The Lima Bean. The Bean wasn’t the fastest car in the lot, but it could stretch a tank of gas out for weeks.

Unfortunately, this same logic did not apply to the oil light. The light came on. I saw it. And I kept driving. And driving. And driving. Until, one day, white smoke started to billow out from underneath the hood of the bean, which was now shaking worse than an overloaded washing machine on a floor made of Jello.

Once we arrived at the dealership where the Bean had been towed, the mechanic emerged from surgery with the bad news. A cracked block.

My stepdad, however, was curious. “But how did this happen?”

“Well,” the mechanic said, leaning back, trying to think of how to break the news to him in a way that would not lead to him having to testify at my murder trial, “lots of things can go wrong with these types of cars, but … it probably just didn’t have any oil for a long, long time.”

And that’s how I ended up riding the bus my junior year for three months.

Oil in a car is a small thing, right? At least physically speaking. It’s not big or obvious like the wheels or the windshield. But without it, the car breaks down. The human soul is a lot like a car in that way. There are a lot of little things that, if not tended to, can lead to a breakdown.

In Luke 17, we hear a story about how Jesus heals 10 lepers. Jesus is walking through an in-between place, somewhere between Samaria and Galilee, and a group of lepers that are probably living separate from everyone, because they were unclean and had to shout, “Unclean! Unclean!” when they came into town for food or water, see Jesus.

But they don’t start shouting, “Unclean! Unclean!” They start shouting, “Jesus, master, have mercy on us!”

And Jesus, from a distance, tells them to go to the priest!

Which is kind of like driving by someone stranded in the desert and shouting, “Drink more water!” It’s odd. But they do it.

And on the way they are healed. But here’s the weird thing: only one of them, once he recognizes he’s healed, turns around and goes back to Jesus.

At this point you would expect a lesson on the importance of gratitude, right? Well, not yet.

The key to the story is not gratitude, but ingratitude. Rom. 1:21 says something shocking in this vein: “For though they knew God, they did not honor him as God or give thanks to him, but they became futile in their thinking, and their senseless minds were darkened.” It would seem the progression of lostness goes like this: refusing to honor and worship and forgetting to give thanks. That’s it. Ingratitude is 50% of how you get lost.

Ingratitude, then, at least according to the Bible, is one of the worst sins in the book.

It also shows that, though the others may have been healed, they weren’t saved.

Could it be that these Jewish men now healed (the nine) were just so excited they had been restored again to a place of prominence and importance in society that they forgot to thank Jesus? The Samaritan’s not a leper anymore, sure, but he’s still a Samaritan. He’s not the lowest of the low, but he’s still way down there.

Is this why we don’t see the other nine worshipping or giving thanks, but this man we do? Does humility ensure that you won’t miss the miracle? That you won’t overlook it? That you won’t be ungrateful? And thus, lost?

There’s something there, isn’t there? Because the fact they were healed on the way shows that even in the midst of waiting for a miracle, of waiting for God to show up and do something in our life, the key is to put one foot in front of the other and to just do what Jesus says. Because sometimes the healing you are waiting for is already happening even if you can’t see it yet.

My wife and I waited for our miracle for 12 years. A little boy. Through prayer and the miracles of science he is here with us. But there were many years we felt like lepers on days everyone else was celebrating. People on the outskirts of the normal, the good, the happy.

But something happened in the process of learning about our odds of having a baby, even with the help of science. I learned, strangely enough, that the odds were against any of us being here. Everyone you meet is literally a walking miracle. Look it up.

I walked around for months thinking about that even before our little boy, against all odds, arrived into our lives. I’m so thankful for him. It really is unbelievable. But when I look at him, I’m also thankful for you. For any of us. Living, breathing miracles all. And I thank God for it.

Jesus says, right after this miracle with the lepers, that the kingdom of God is already among us. I think that is so true. And we miss it every day. Maybe that’s why so many of us feel lost. We’ve forgotten the miracle that has already happened to us and we’re too busy rushing off after power and prominence to see we’ve already won. It’s hard to be thankful when you think the greatest thing is yet to happen. But what if it already has?

Is the most obvious thing about us, that we are here at all, the thing that can grease our souls and provide the horsepower for us to get through this life and not break down on the days we feel unimportant and insignificant?

Paul reminds us that the will of God in Christ Jesus for us is to give thanks in all circumstances (1 Thess. 5:18). Want to know the will of God for your life? There it is.

Because ingratitude doesn’t just cause you to miss the miracle; it also takes you further away from all that is good, much like the nine who disappeared over the horizon, thinking the best things were ahead of them, when he was behind them, waiting to receive them, back where they already had been.

This is so normal it’s tragic, and so tragic it’s normal. Because life really is about what you choose to put in you. And this has everything to do with whether you experience the freedom and joy of this life with the wind in your hair.

Or if you end up riding the bus.