This is an honest and true and not-so-quick story of car trouble and God's provision.
We're not Ramseyites or anything, but we do practice living below our means, as a one-income household, and we've tried to live debt-free (minus a mortgage and a single car loan at a time, never owing more than $8,000). This means having two vehicles that are high mileage and have to be repaired from time to time. As things would happen, our story begins near the holiday season when money is already being spent and the credit card showed a higher number than we like it to (for what it's worth, it's been a long, long time, since we've ever carried a balance more than a month). I know Brother Dave says "Christmas is the same time every year," but sometimes our monthly budget categories don't care about this seasonal fact.
A few weeks ago, an oil change for our 178,000-plus mile 2004 Jeep Grand Cherokee (dubbed "Maroon 5" by a friend) turned into a new water pump, THEN a new radiator, THEN a new battery — in less than a week's time. In our minds, it was painful, but worth it to keep a vehicle going that we hope can live to somewhere in the neighborhood of 250,000 miles. Our "new" 2010 Ford Fusion has been one alert light after another since we got it in 2016, but things seemed to have subsided for the time being.
Side note: If you ever see us buy another Ford Fusion again, you'll know I'm suffering from memory loss and/or have lost my mind. Driving on ...
Fast-forward to Monday, Dec. 23. I gassed up the metallic green Ford Fusion (dubbed "Cars Ulrich" by the same friend), got some cash for our Christmas trip to my in-law's house outside of Atlanta, Ga. I'm sitting in the car trying to get the Bluetooth to connect (for some reason it stopped working and the USB aux wasn't working either). I'm about to turn the engine off when the check engine light appears. I head inside and let my family (who are ready to pack up the car and walk out the door) know that I have to get the engine light checked out. It's a "P0302 - Cylinder 2 Misfire Detected." I Google it and read that we probably shouldn't drive it a long way without risking damage. What do I know? We decide not to risk being 450 miles away from home with a sketchy car and/or delay our Christmas trip.
So we decide to all hop into the 2004 dark red Jeep Grand Cherokee, all 178,000-plus miles and dented right front fender of her (albeit WITH new water pump, radiator, battery, and a partridge in a pear tree - MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ME). The trip down is rather uneventful with the exception of the Air Bag light going off and on after a few hours on the road.
If this is a movie, that where the ominous music should start playing.
We arrive. I take it out one more time that night and it sits for a day. On Christmas Day, we go to Shannon's aunt and uncle's house. After good food, good company, etc., we get back in the Jeep Grand Cherokee and turn the key.
Silence.
Nothing.
No clicking.
No struggle.
Just nothing.
After blocking the street and annoying the neighbors, Shannon's uncle and I manage to get it jump-started and I drive back to my in-law's house and drive it around for about a half-hour to charge the (nine-day-old, 150-plus-dollars) battery (which I had just missed being replaced free by three-year warranty by one stinking month). I get back to the house and turn it off. Wait a few minutes and attempt to start it up again.
Silence.
Nothing.
The next day, after getting precious little sleep and stressing over being 450 miles from my house with a dead vehicle (not to mention feeling like a country mouse in the city), my father-in-law and I jump it again and I head to the auto parts store chain I bought the battery from in Jasper. I produce my receipt (which they thanked me for actually holding on to), they test the alternator, a couple of other things, and determine my nine-day-old battery is bad. A free replacement and an engine that cranks eases my mind a bit.
(Sidebar: *** On the way back to my in-law's house FROM GETTING THAT BATTERY, a member of Gwinett County's Finest pulls me over for — what I can only assume is — Driving While Being-A-Hoosier-Below-The-Mason-Dixon-Line. Life isn't going my way, it would seem. He says my (obviously not expired) registration is expired. Not breaking any laws, not speeding, just thought it'd be fun to run my plate the day after Christmas. He gives me the single weirdest story I've ever heard about my registration being expired despite all evidence/paperwork to the contrary. He asks if I live around here. I resist all urges to have him re-check my Indiana license, registration, plate, and insurance card one more time. Thankfully, I know better and there's no ticket, just a verbal "might want to check your DMV when you get back. Happy New Year." *** End Sidebar)
We got back home last evening — after what seemed like the longest day ever of driving and listening for every rattle or clank the ole Jeep might be making — thanking God every time she started up and praying we wouldn't get stuck on Monteagle or somewhere else where I'd have to go through my family lineage to explain that I'm not really a Yankee, just transplanted (*joking*).
After all of that, here's the cool part.
I'm praying a lot. I'm fairly stressed. I'm recalling Scripture warning of anxiousness and not doing very well at obeying those commands. As a minister, I'm supposed to lead others and be an example and all that stuff. I'm glad no one saw my inner thoughts.
What were we going to do? How am I, the bread-winner, going to work things so that all bills are paid and we're not in trouble? How am *I*?
"I, I, I, I ... going to do this?"
And yet, God provides for us. Always.
Much of the cost of vehicle repairs was covered by people being faithful to God's leading.
Those who were generous to us didn't know the needs we had, they didn't know the timeliness of their gifts, but they were faithful to God's prompting, I believe.
I want to be that way.
I, obviously, don't want to give names, details, etc., but want to glorify God for meeting the needs of our family through his people being generous.
I don't want to make this a story about God taking care of us because we give or anything like that (I'm stridently anti-"health & wealth gospel"), but I do want to publicly testify that, if you doubt, please know God provides for our needs — even when I kind of want to drive those vehicles off a cliff and watch them die a slow, fiery death (without us in them, of course).
I'm sure these vehicles will be on the scrap heap in a few years time and this season will be a distant memory, but God showed me, YET AGAIN, of his never-ending faithfulness to His children.
I'm grateful.
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