Monday, July 18, 2011

the red Chevelle


Our 4th of July again this year was spent in Quakertown, Pennsylvania at their annual Family Celebration Day. From early pancake breakfasts, to the late fireworks after dark, the day is filled with Volunteer Fire Department competitions, ball games, band concerts, lots of local food, and a great car show-limited to 450 cars! So after making our first trip through the cars, the smell of roasted peppers and onions and Italian sausage finally got to Theresa, so we had our first meal. Later that afternoon when I got a sno-cone, the man suggested I get a red one to match my red shirt, and compliment the other food colors on it! But for now, sitting in the picnic pavilions at picnic tables, we were joined by an older lady who was a local. And while talking with her, another younger man joined us, somehow balancing pizza, fries, a hamburger, and a Coke. And you could tell there was something physically different about him, and when his wife joined him, she introduced Tony to us. And how he had had a brain tumor. And how they come out every year to enter their car in the car show, a 1969 Chevy Chevelle, a modified dragster.
"Did you see it?" Tony asked. "Yes," I lied, and he went on telling me all about it, and how he won best Modified Muscle Car in 2009. This car had consumed seven years of his life in building it. Precious times, maybe not then, but looking back now they were. And after visiting, we assured him we would find him and the car again.
By this time dozens more cars had arrived, but we had no trouble finding Tony's red Chevelle. It was just like he described it. And we found him sitting in the shade behind it. As we looked through his photo album of the restoration, and he told us of how he had raced it in the 10's, we were somehow taken by this car and this man. A car that wouldn't normally appeal to me, now somehow was interesting. It was Tony's car-and now it was personal. And somehow this car was a source of comfort to them, a place to remember better times, before cancer had robbed them of life, and a lifestyle. And they reminded me of why I go to old car shows, for as much as I like the cars, it is really the people that bring them alive.
And as I look back at how many travelling veteran's walls I have looked at over the years, my heart remembers. How I would stand and gaze at the endless stream of names, looking for one I might recognize, but thankful there were none I did. Until two years ago, when Capt. Joshua Meadows name appeared. A BMW rider, and friend of Theresa and Kelly, as I touched his name, now it was personal. And I thought of his wife Angela, carrying their daughter, Olivia, who he would never know, and a daddy she would only know in pictures. And the horror she must have felt when she saw the two men from the War Dept. coming up her walk-she knew why they had come. So now I listen more to men who share stories of fallen comrades at the wall. When a Korean or WWII vet tells the stories, I listen. For now, they are more personal, too.
Travelling in the south on a Sunday morning, you see many small churches with a handful of cars in front. Many denominations, and even branches within them. My favorites, the Burned Out Missionary Baptist Church in Mississippi, and the Regular Baptist Church in North Carolina-that name really scares me. And as I think of how denominations and doctrines separate us from each other, I am thankful that Jesus Christ is in my life. He made it all personal, and rescued me from the depths of religion. So when someone asks me what I do for a living, I say "I'm a Christian," for I have life in Jesus. And I hope my actions say more about Him in my life than words.
Cars and walls, like the food history on my shirt, only tell part of the story. Memories that are fonder when recalled and remembered. That when recalled take on a new life-no matter how many years later. But only in Jesus do I have memories yet to be told. A hope and a future. And I can look ahead, instead of back. He's that personal.
So next time you see me in a trancelike state at an old car show, I am remembering the Tony's, and many like him, who have given life to cars. Who bring life to a vehicle with personal memories, not found on any spec sheet or road test. They are that personal. Maybe that is why I go. But no matter where I go, Jesus is always with me. He's that personal. Bet you never thought Jesus and cars had so much in common?
love with compassion,
Mike
matthew25biker.blogspot.com