At even a young age my friends and I could identify cars. Joey’s dad had a
1960 Dodge Polara sedan with those weird backwards fins, so did Tricia’s dad.
Bruce and Barry’s dad had an old “which way is it going” Studebaker. The man on
the corner had a ‘56 Mercury, another neighbor a 1950 Dodge, two tone black and
white. Mr. Pillar had a 1957 Dodge pickup, rare in even those days, and
Steven’s dad drove an old 1956 Cadillac. With the exception of the Cadillac
today, cars that most will past by at car shows, or come up low bid at auctions,
but these almost non-descript cars are the ones holding our childhood memories.
These are the cars our mothers used to go grocery shopping, to car pool in, to
see our dads got to work. They were utilitarian, built for a purpose, and then
thrown away. Many not even found of any value at trade in, they carried the
marks of bicycles ridden to close, ice cream from the DDB, and salt and snow
from winter. They went to the beach, brought home sand, went to the nursery and
brought home plants and shrubs, and lumber for home projects from Hand Lumber.
In rare occasions did they get to go on vacations, they were the workers, the
servants of the families, and were maintained barely, washed only when really
dirty, and often times never saw a garage. They bore the marks of our memories,
the scars of our youth, and many never made past the crusher, as they were never
worth more than $50 in trade in, and ended up as scrap. It is these cars that
we grew up in, that we resided in the back seats of, and listened to crackly AM
radios in. With vacuum wipers that every time we needed them, they got slower
as the car went faster. They used the cheapest gas found, and often became our
mother’s car, the second car when a new one was purchased. In our family it was
a 1950 Ford coupe, cost $50 to take me to kindergarten. A shoebox car now
collectible, that gave way for a new 1962 Rambler American station wagon.
Exciting in our family, but still with a six and three on the tree. Can you
imagine Ms. SUV in one today?
My dad was never a car guy, and had a succession of Ramblers in the
sixties. Joey’s mom bought a first Mustang, Scotty’s dad had a cool 1964
Chrysler 300-black. Bruce and Barry’s dad had a new Falcon, and when his sister
died, the old 1950 Dodge went, as he inherited a 1962 Chevy Biscayne. Again
with the exception of the 300, and the Mustang, cars that are unforgettable
today, but carry many memories with them. If my dad was alive today, and if we
could get him to a car show, the shiny Muscle Cars wouldn’t interest him.
Cadillac convertibles, MG’s, and Mercedes Benz would be passed by. He would be
found in the back row with the old sedans, many still in the same shape as when
they were retired. These are the cars he would remember, these are the cars
that would stir his memory of when he had a new family. Anything newer than
1965 would be modern, anything older than 1946 remembered from his high school
days. But the heart of his memories would be found in the neglected,
unimportant cars. Cars where the upholstery is worn, maybe a blanket thrown
over it, paint faded, and scratched, despite too man warnings “don’t ride your
bike by the car.” There may be old candy wrappers hidden under the rear seats
from when we were told “no eating in the car,” and stickers on the door jam
reminding him of the next service due. But the car would only be the
conveyance, the mode back to Memory Lane, for the times, places, and people
would be what he would remember. Never stopping to realize the car played such
a important part in making them. And so this ad in Hemmings for a 1961 Rambler
American station wagon reminded me of my father. Basic transportation that
somehow endured when many better cars never made it. A car with what we all
patina, where the memories are right there to see if you take the time to look.
A car that would sound like this in the used car ads,
“1962 Rambler American wagon, three speed, economical six, r and h, recent
service. Deluxe interior. Make offer.” Nothing outstanding, nothing special,
just another used car buried in the ads. The make offer with not even an asking
price, getting whatever the buyer would offer, hoping the rand h, radio and
heater would help move it faster. This is a car my dad, and my friend’s dads
would remember, a car that would attract their attention today on their walks.
A car that when they passed by would stimulate old memories of when they were
younger, and the stories would start to ruminate and then be told. “I saw an
old Rambler today parked at the bank. they just don’t make them like that
anymore. Remember the time... and the faded memories would fill the afternoon.
Maybe those old cars weren’t so forgettable anymore. Maybe the jobs they did
were more important than we remember. And for every red convertible, there were
dozens of these old family cars filling our driveways and garages.
In today’s disposable throw away world where BMW brags about their car
being recyclable, many memories are forgotten before they are made. A sad
statement on our lives also, as purpose has taken over in a stylish way. Things
not remembered because they never had a chance to happen, and if they did were
only erased to make more room for new ones, which met the same fate. Some spend
their lives like this, and treat their God like this. He is expected to perform
for them, and when he doesn’t he’s traded in. Or forgotten, and put away.
Their cars may be new, but are of no substance, and their lives reflect it.
When God has a different plan. But perhaps some of the saddest I see are those
who want to serve God, to change the world. Just because they choose to show
up. Who expect big things of God because they are told it from the pulpit. Go
overseas in missions, start a big church, feed the millions, and brag on how
much you raised for the poor. They miss out on the blessings God has for us.
In ministry we get excited about many small steps, of seeing individuals lives
changed. We watch as God provides the growth, and the means for it. We just
show up and love like he asks. So many people who are like the old cars
restricted to the back row, forgotten,and lost. Yet this is where we find Jesus
among them, and this is where the action is. Through the wrinkles and scars of
their past lives we see the new person Christ has made them, and are reminded
how we all are a work in process. How a job, a set of clothes, or a snack makes
a difference. We see how a Bible study, not to learn scripture, but to see
Jesus and how he loves us, and how we can interact with him changing lives. We
see how a hug can be priceless, and how being remembered by name gives them
value. All because Jesus took the time to spend with us, and we pass it on.
Scripture tells us that God keeps a book of remembrance, of things we do for him
after we are saved. I can only hope among the blank pages of mine there are
some things God felt were worth writing down. That the attitude to serve was
about Jesus, and not for me. That human praise be found wanting, and God’s view
of me acceptable. No sins recorded. they are forgiven and forgotten. I hope
that many memories of serving and loving others in the name of Jesus is my
legacy here, and in heaven.
When younger I thought I had to be up front, but find now I can do more in
the back row with Jesus getting all the attention. When he gets the glory, we
get the blessings. And he loves to bless, so give him the glory. And let
others see him in your life, your attitude, and your talk. Be the kind of
person God will remember, a Job who loved God. A Jonah who loved God, but had a
hatred for God’s people, until meeting God face to face. You may be in the
whale, or shielded from the heat of life, God hasn’t forgotten you. That
kindness you show others may be all he requires from you today. While many talk
of wanting to see these men in heaven, along with Paul and Peter, after Jesus, I
wish to see those who I shared Christ with. To hear the stories of how Jesus
changed their lives. To sit with the others in the back row, where all the
action was and is,because that is where Jesus is found. So many of us are like
the cars our dads would remember, honor God today by remembering those who are
forgotten. The ones who society and the church are too busy for. Make them an
offer, one they cannot refuse. The back row is often where real action is in
life. Cars like my dad’s Rambler remind us of that. What you remember will
depend on what you have done. Start a new memory today in Christ, it is
simple. Feed the hungry, give water to the thirsty, clothe the naked, visit the
sick and in prison, and welcome strangers. Maybe even clean up their old car,
and listen to their stories. He who has an ear let him hear, there are so many
stories about Jesus to be told, and new ones yet to make. Be a person your
father in heaven remembers. It is the one in 99 that was lost we teach about,
not the 99 who weren’t. Maybe there is something about old cars after all that
reminds us of our dads. What will fill the pages of your book is up to you. I
want mine to be filled with memories of Jesus in it. I’m just glad to be in it.
I know the author.
love with compassion,
Mike
matthew25biker.blogspot.com
