The Significance of Self-Motivation

#1 Son edited together a much more satisfying video, consisting of footage from my first drive (last Friday) and shots taken as a passenger on a second ride (last Saturday).  The song playing was billboard #1 in June 1955.



Self-motivation is a significant milestone... right up there with the first engine light-off (last December), the body painted (hopefully soon), and the first street drive (hopefully late summer/early fall).  Of course, the most significant milestone for me will be taking my Dad for a ride.  Even with his failing health, that milestone is looking like a very real possibility.

40 years is indeed a long time to wait.  Driving the car, even the short distance around Grandma's old driveway, was something I had longed for and eagerly anticipated, yet it was strangely surreal.  I tried to say in the moment, to take it all in, to recognize and celebrate this milestone.  But instead I was caught up in the mundane... the rattle of the exhaust, the stumbling of the engine on the hill, the oil pressure and temperature, the stiffness of the steering, the foot pressure needed for the brakes... I found myself thinking "I really need to hook up that power assist unit...  "

I didn't fully appreciate the significance of this moment until days later.  Maybe I still don't... the full impact is still sinking in.  The car is being redeemed before my eyes!  This object of both my longing and my shame is becoming something else, something beautiful.

I must confess that a "baby bird" is not a car I would have chosen for myself.  I think of myself as more of a sports car or muscle car guy.  I've owned a '68 Charger, '72 Mazda R100, '76 280Z, '76 MG Midget, '87 Formula Firebird, and (currently) an '04 GTO.  These are all fairly competent, fairly quick, masculine cars.  If I were to choose a '50's car, I would prefer a Jaguar or a Corvette.  T-birds are pretty and all, but they don't have a reputation for performance.  After all, that's what counts, right?  If a car reflects something about the owner, wouldn't I want it to reflect performance and masculinity?  Maybe that's why Dad was never too enamored with the T-bird, either.  He was more of an MG guy.

Yet, this car first came into my life at a critical time.  My Mom bought it for me from my Aunt when I was 14.  Owning a t-bird, running or not, gave me identity and purpose in high school.  It was a desirable car, and by inference that made me desirable.  As an insecure teen who's parents and living conditions were so obviously "different", this idea became very compelling to me.  Working on and daydreaming about the car was an enjoyable escape from reality, and was eventually joined by loud progressive rock music, marijuana, and pornography in my arsenal of denial.  In my senior yearbook, several people wrote encouraging words about the t-bird.  One friend even wrote "stop talking about the t-bird, and fix it already!"

Letting go of the car in college, sad as it was, meant letting go of some of my identity, breaking with my past, and making myself into something new.  It also represented a surrender to the reality of my limitations.  In hindsight, this may have been a good and important thing for me at that point in my life.  I was on the threshold of marriage and a Naval career, and I needed humility.  While it was painful and seemingly shameful at the time, it was also a relief.  I didn't see God's hand in it at the time, but I do now.

My Uncle who bought the car from me was not related to Grandma.  He was a WWII and Korean War fighter pilot, and he had wanted a baby bird for a long time.  He treasured it, but he didn't have time or resources to do much with it.  Thankfully, he kept it covered and dry before he gave it to his son.  My cousin kept it garaged, and like every owner before him had great plans for it.  I knew they had the car, and I secretly longed to have it back, but I was comfortable with my decision to let it go.

Last April, when my cousin asked me if I wanted the car, I was a little hesitant.  I had let go of it, so many years ago, for a good reason.  Not all my memories surrounding the car were happy ones.  Did I really want to open up those old wounds?  Restoring the car would still be a daunting task.  Indeed, it has been.

I have been willing to open the wounds, and expose the old resentments.  I have forgiven my father for letting me sell the car, and have started to accept him for who he is.  Climbing under the car has brought back many adolescent memories, most of which have been rather unpleasant.  I remember the loneliness, and the frustration of living in a house full of neglect.  I experienced thoughts like "Gee, I remember those bolts on the gas pedal.  I put them in just after Grandpa died."  I also remember the despair that led me to put a dent in the vibration dampener with an axe (the dent is still there).  No, I did not have the temperament nor the patience to be a mechanic, at least not as a teen!

By writing this down I am starting to understand the significance of this restoration journey.   The  reality that the car now runs is much more than a restoration milestone.  It is a redemption milestone.  It is a touchstone of God's grace, a corporeal projection of His restoration of my soul.  Whatever happens to this car in the future, I can remember how its story has paralleled my life, and the magnificent day when I drove it on Grandma's driveway with my son!

I occasionally think that spending so much effort on this car must surely be vain and selfish.  The sermon at church Sunday focused on deconstructing the 23rd Psalm, being lead beside "still water", having my soul restored...  in a moment of reflective prayer, I had a vision:

I am driving the t-bird down the coast highway.  It is a glorious day and the top is down.  I glance over at the passenger seat, and Jesus is sitting there, calmly smiling at me.  The sun is shining, and the wind feels marvelous on our faces.  Then Jesus tilts his head back and starts to laugh.  Not a chuckle, but a full on belly laugh, like someone overcome with joy!  Then it strikes me... we are having a great time together. He really wants to be with me, and He really enjoys my company!  He really loves me! 

No, it's not vanity.  It's a blessing!