my car: the still continuing analogy

It’s been awhile since I’ve written about my car.  Well, yeah, okay, I know, so it’s been 
awhile since I’ve written about anything.

But, anyhow, my car is doing very well.  I never updated since the last post on the trauma 
of hitting a deer, the possible separation between me & my beloved car, the dilemma of 
repairs.

Well, a prince of a man from my home group, who doubles as an auto body repair man, 
offered to fix it for me at cost, and using used parts.  So it was returned to me only $300 
later, looking just as it always had.  Except I didn’t get the hood painted as I should have, 
and now, with the effects of Oregon’s constant precipitation, I have this special two-tone 
thing going on, the car a shiny black, and the hood a dulling gray.

But you know, I don’t care so much.  Every time I see the hood, I smile and think of the 
great Care and Provision in my life.  And I’m so grateful to have gotten to keep this car, 
as it continues to teach me things.  The metaphors continue to jump me.

Like the other night, I was going to drive up to Vancouver to see a friend for dinner.  That 
meant that I’d be driving in the dark on the way back, and I knew that I had a headlight 
out and needed to replace it before I left.  So I have this very small window of time 
between when I get off work and when I promised to be there to buy a replacement bulb 
(while also picking up a cake for my sister), go to my sister’s, kiss all four kids, and 
change the bulb.

By the time I get to the last step, I have 20 minutes to make a 30 minute drive.  So I’m 
flustered and hurrying, and go toremove the bulb.  Must remove the air duct.  The stupid 
clip that holds it in place won’t come out, of course.  Then I have to fit my hand into a 
very narrow space to unscrew the fitting that holds the bulb.  I burn the side of my hand 
on a still-hot part of the engine, and I scrape up the back of my hand moving it up and 
down in the narrow space, more and more aggressively the longer it takes to do what 
should be a simple task.  

Once I get the bulb out, I discover that the one I’d just bought is the wrong bulb.  
Fortunately, I had a spare in the glove box.  Instead of stopping to consider what that 
might mean, as I’m in a hurry, I just get the spare and try to get it in.  I get the bulb 
properly attached, but now the fitting won’t go in for the life of me.  I try and try, still 
scraping my hand as it moves in different postures and twists and turns.  I cuss.  I try 
again.  I cuss louder.  I hope my sister’s neighbors are all indoors.

Finally, I get it to stay in place, though it’s still not secure.  Twenty minutes has gone 
by since I started.  My friend is used to me being late.  She will not be surprised.  But 
I’m still irritated.  I go to turn on the light to make sure it’s working, only to realize I just 
spent 20 minutes on the wrong light.

That was the high beam.  It was the low beam that was burnt out.  It all makes sense 
now.  It wasn’t the wrong bulb; it was the wrong light.

Growling now, I went for the correct light.  But—wouldn’t you know?—it came right out, 
and then went right back in.  I think the whole procedure took around 15 seconds.  I 
couldn’t believe it.  It just clicked right into place.

After getting on my way and placing a call to my waiting friend, I began thinking about 
my experience with the lights.  And that’s when the metaphor jumped me.  

So often I’ve stubbornly and blindly tried and tried, not looking at the obvious signs along 
the way that it was just the wrong thing.  Too hurried, too determined to make it work.  
And I got burned and scraped up in the process.

But when it’s the right thing, it just clicks into place.  Almost seems too easy, so you’re 
tempted to not believe it.  Tempted to go back and re-check, just to make sure.  

But the light’s on, steady and strong, so there’s just no denying it.

:)