Yesterday was a day of incredible
blessing, and one of the (at least recently) most difficult things
I've ever done. Yesterday I climbed into my new car, and drove off
for another brief time in Wyoming.
For those of you in the know, this may
cause some puzzlement. Why should getting a astronomically huge
upgrade in vehicles cause any sort of emotional difficulty? I mean, I
drove a car that I loved to be frustrated with and that had major
breakdowns on a semi-annual basis. Not to mention the convenient vent
holes in the rusted out body panels, or the windows that would
happily roll down... but only roll back up through a heroic feat of
strength. And why would it be sad to say farewell to the purposefully
avoided thought that I drive all over the midwest and the car doesn't
have a spare tire for the increasingly likely event of a flat. Well
on the one had it's sad because that car was a huge blessing regardless.
That car was a gift from a dear brother
at a time of need. I had recently lost my other vehicle to a
collision with a deer and was without a vehicle or the means to acquire
one. And in that place of helplessness my friend gifted me my little green car. A car
that we had both spent countless hours driving/riding around in
during high school. A car filled with good memory and well-earned
rust and dust. And it served me well for over three years. I learned
to drive a manual in that car, and to keep a set of earplugs handy
because it out roared most heavy machinery for the first two years
until I could get the muffler fixed once again.
I learned how to pull a starter out of
that car and that a stubborn starter can sometimes be awakened with a
hammer. I took that car to camp for three summers, and it faithfully
got me there, faithfully had some major mechanical issue while I was
there, and newly repaired faithfully carried me home again.
I will miss that stupid thing... it was
a daily reminder of grace and provision. Not abundance, but enough.
And now I look at the car that I own
and I struggle calling it mine. Because forever in my mind this car
is my father's. Sleek, black, and filled with a host of modern bells
a whistles it is a thing of beauty. I loved this car when it first
replaced our old “canadian battlewagon” during the cash for
clunkers program. And I loved this car whenever I borrowed it for
short periods to drive around town.
Me and my little brother took this car
to Chicago when we moved him home... and for a very brief moment we
thought that it had been stolen (and it had in a perfectly legal but
no less annoying manner). I remember this car sitting in the garage
for the last two years. Every time any of us would return home there it
would be, as a steady reminder that its driver was gone, but he would
never be forgotten. And in a very real sense that car was a comfort
of the greater things my heavenly father was gifting my earthly one
even now.
And now I own that car. And I am
ecstatic and sad. Because that is my dad's car. And it's like a small
hug to be able to feel his presence every time I see it. But I also
can't help but know that there now is an empty garage at my mothers
house because of that blessing. And I can't help but be reminded that
dad is gone, and that he won't be returning to take back his car.
I was swamped with all of that joy,
sorrow, and a surprising amount of raw pain right as I was saying
good bye to my mother. As we both stood in the doorway to the garage
she said “it's yours now” and completely against my better
judgment I burst out crying and said “no it's not” after an
indeterminate amount of time, several long hugs and more tears than
my precious male ego would tolerate in almost any other context I got
in the car and drove off...
It's amazing how humbling it is to be
blessed so completely over the last month. I was surrounded by a
family that I love dearly for almost the entire time. And I got more
sleep than I have in years. Coming up on two years without dad it
still remains a bit odd to not have him there. And as I played with
my cute nephew bearing his namesake this last week the bittersweet rolled over me
again and again.
So why the title? Well... I've said
what seems like hundreds of times now that this sort of pain is good.
Because the loss (and the blessings) are the result of an incredible
group of people that I get to call family. Would that all people be so
blessed this side of heaven.
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