Rust Bucket, that is.
A few months ago, I was sitting in Church on a Sunday as I do, and during a moment of silent contemplation a whisper in my mind spoke to me…
“It’s time to sell the truck, Sam.”
This truck. Fully loaded, brand new, every option box ticked off, LOVED that truck. I babied it. Thing saw maybe 300 miles a month after my commute changed, so I was paying a small fortune to keep something I barely used.
I’d been praying for some time for an end to my sadness, my depression, and my loneliness. I even put in a prayer request at my church for just that. Someone did. Since then, God has been surgically removing things from my life that don’t make me happy. It started with this truck.
That morning when God spoke to me, the first thing I did was speak to my pastor. I asked if he knew anyone who needed a good truck. The next thing I did was put it up for sale on the Internet.
Within weeks, it was gone to a new home. I won’t lie, I wasn’t exactly sure why He told me to sell my truck, but I’m of the mind that He has a much better view of things than I do, and disobedience never crossed my mind.
Still, I’m a homeowner and I like trucks. A truck can be a handy tool, so I started looking. A brand new truck was out, God wouldn’t tell me to sell the GMC for me to go right out and buy another one. I had a price in my mind that I couldn’t exceed.
I looked at a few old trucks, but most in that price range needed much more TLC than I was ready to provide. The whole time I kept passing this 10 year old Silverado that only appeared to be moving when the owner needed to cut his grass. It looked good from a distance, so I automatically assumed it was out of my price range.
Turned out it came in just under what I was willing to spend and the condition was good enough for Government work. With a handshake and a bank check, I had myself another truck.
That night when I parked it in my driveway, the anxiety hit. What was I doing? I had a brand new truck, sold it, bought this old beater, and now there’s a laundry list of things I have to do. Doubt poured into me as my chest tightened up.
“God, I give this anxiety to you, in Jesus name I pray. Amen.”
Like a flash, the anxiety was gone. It was replaced with logic and a plan. For the big things, I’d bring it to the only mechanic I trust that isn’t a blood relative who has a strong dislike for General Motors. Everything else, I’d fix myself.
So the next day I head over to the car wash to get it inspected, and decide to fill the tank before I do. The kid tries, and repeatedly fails to do so. The tank won’t fill. I hop out and put in a few gallons, and that’s when the CEL (check engine light) came on.
After a few days with the mechanic I get it back with the big problems solved (wheel bearings and fuel leak due to a rotted out fuel pump), but I still can’t fill the tank, and that CEL is still glaring at me from the dashboard.
Yesterday morning I got up around 7am, went to Autozone to pick up a few parts, then I got down to work. Slowly and methodically, I took apart the system that had the problem, checking each component and replacing what I couldn’t fix by hand.
For 4 hours I worked, covered in rust, dirt, sweat, and grease. I was completely in my element. Smiling. Laughing to myself as I discovered something new. For the first time in years, I was alone AND I was happy. I wouldn’t trade anything for that morning fixing my old truck, my rust bucket.
I simply couldn’t find that feeling, that purpose, that joy with something brand new. As I pulled up to the pump that had previously rejected my efforts to fuel the old girl, I was nervous. Within a few minutes the tank was full, and I had an ear to ear grin. Only 3 words came to mind.
“Thank you, Jesus.”