The Rust Hole in the Trunk

OK, I jacked up the t-bird yesterday and started a careful survey of the undercarriage.  The nameplate says it was originally delivered in Des Moines, but I know that it has been in California since the late 50's.  As one would expect of a "California car", there isn't much body rot.  There is a lot of surface rust, but I'm grateful that the doors and rocker panels seem sound.  From the outside, it looks very solid.

However, I did find one significant rust hole in the bottom of the trunk.  I suspect that water collected there whenever the car got wet, and eventually it rusted through.  This will have to be repaired... eventually.

Like the car, I believe that my spiritual frame is basically good, and if I don't look too closely or open up very much, people probably think I'm in decent shape.  However, I have recently been reminded of one of my own hidden character defects. Yes, there is some ugliness down there, some decay that, if left unattended, will eventually threaten my integrity.  I'd like to ignore it... because like the car, it will take time, energy, and yes, pain to repair.

While the car can wait, I'm compelled to fix this defect in me immediately.... but I've been in recovery long enough to know that my character is a long-term project, and that quick fixes and shoddy welds rarely hold up in the long run.  I also suspect that my own decay runs much deeper than a simple hole in the trunk, and will require a much greater commitment to repair.  I need to pace myself for the journey, restate my intention to live a Godly life, and cling to the hope that is within me.

Taking Pleasure in Small Steps

This week I acquired a seat frame.  It's not much to look at, just some rusty metal and springs.  But the car didn't have a seat at all, and now it does.  Why is this important to me?  Believe it or not, this is a rare part for an early T-Bird.  There are several restoration houses that sell pre-made seat covers, foam, and other materials to make your old seat just like new, but they won't sell you a seat frame.  They assume that you already have one... after all, why wouldn't you?

Well the seat for my T-Bird was stolen nearly 4 decades ago.  Since then, it the car has had no "place" for me within in it.  While it still has attractive lines, it no longer welcomes me to take the wheel, or to imagine  experiencing the road.  Perhaps there is a message here for me... have I somehow lost a place for God within me?  Do I no longer provide an inviting place for him to sit behind the wheel of my life?  Can I not imagine the pleasure and thrill of a roadtrip with him?

My initial search for a seat frame was quite discouraging.  I was resigned to just bolting something in, with the idea of eventually replacing it.  Last week, however, almost by accident I found a listing on Craigslist for a seat on the opposite side of the country.  Knowing that I was going to a business meeting in that city, I contacted the seller.  On my trip this week, I met with him at a coffee shop.  He was a delightful man, full of enthusiasm for car restoration, and justifiably proud of his excellent upholstery work and his beautiful '57 Ford wagon!  I'm sure we will keep in touch as this project unfolds, even though we live 3000 miles apart. I now have a new friend, and UPS is shipping my seat frame to me.

I can choose to believe in coincidence, or I can choose to see this as God's blessing.  Perhaps I'm being taught that restoration, both automotive and human, is a journey of small steps, of minor triumphs, and of seeing hope in challenging circumstances.

Why Restoration is Important

As I look at this decrepit mass of rusted metal in my garage, I have to ask myself what it represents to me.  Certainly, many of my adolescent memories and dreams are wrapped up in it, and like many of it's parts, most are either rusted, misplaced or stolen, and some completely forgotten.  Am I like this car?

Do I also bear the obvious evidence of so many years of neglect?  Does God cringe when He seeks me, like my wife did when she first saw this car?  Or, does God see the elegant lines beneath the rust, and relish the possibilities for the future... For there ARE possibilities!  I see in this car opportunities for creative expression through paint and mechanical upgrades, and future satisfaction through careful repair and refurbishment.  I'm aware that there are many things it currently lacks, and that I will need to devote more time and resources than I currently comprehend to realize my hope for it's glory.

By this, I'm beginning to understand God's hope for my own glory.  The neglect has left layers of dirt and rust on me, both inside and out.  I suspect that the grinding and sanding will hurt, and significant parts of me will need to be disassembled before they can be restored.  Some of my parts are beyond practical repair, but I trust my owner to replace or even upgrade them.

And, it is my ongoing desire to please him, to his eventual delight!

Welcome Home

39 years ago, at age 14, I was given the same 1955 T-Bird that my grandmother drove when she was alive.  She died very suddenly of stomach cancer when I was 4 years old.  I have fleeting memories of her... her kindness, her embracing love, and her ferocious protection of me!  I remember sitting next to her in that car, feeling safe yet adventurous!

When I first received the car, it was complete, but barely running.  In my adolescent enthusiasm, I promptly took it apart, intent on overhauling it myself.  I was full of dreams, and the future was full of possibilities.  In the discomfort and ugliness of my young life, I took refuge in owning a T-Bird, and the wonderful possibilities that fact implied.  As you might expect, rebuilding this car proved to be beyond my skill and resources.  I didn't have a secure place to keep it, and parts began to disappear... first minor ones, then more significant ones.  The frustration and disappointment became oppressive.  My dreams were crumbling before my eyes.

34 years ago, as a heartbroken 19 year old, I sold this car... which was of course no longer running and now missing many parts.  For most of my life, I have considered this to be a personal failure, my first real taste of bitter disappointment..  I sold it to my uncle, who kept it for a few decades virtually untouched, then gave it to his son.   After another few decades, my cousin also found it burdensome, and recently asked me if I wanted it.

Today (6 May 2011), I brought this same car into my garage.  I'm still exploring how I really feel about that.  The car is poorly primed, missing many critical and expensive parts, with a stripped and ugly interior, no seat or upholstery, lots of rust, and is generally just an ugly hulk.  The expense and effort of repairing it seems overwhelming!  In many ways, it represents the state of my own soul, a victim of neglect and apathy, existing through the decades without a purpose.  What does taking on this project really mean to me?  What does God want to do with me as I embark on this?