why do it right when you can do it yourself?

Let’s get one thing perfectly clear right up front, I don’t work on cars, motorcycles, or fix things around the house.  Although I spent most of my life in automotive, I never fixed anything, I advised or managed.  Put a wrench in my hand and it becomes a hammer, a screwdriver becomes a pry bar, and a hammer becomes an implement of destruction.  I have lost tips to fingers from power tools, and cut more cords, and had more tools go up in smoke from abuse.  Just the thought of me attempting to fix anything sets off tirades of the seven words you can’t say on radio, and you can be assured whatever the problem was, it will cost twice as much and take twice as long to fix.  My hands have no relationship with my brain, the two seem at odds when it comes to tools, so I learned long ago it is easier, cheaper, and less stressful to let someone else do it right the first time. Which lands much credence to my motto of “I rather be riding than wrenching.”  A simple oil change at the last moment before a trip almost led to not going.  Forgetting to replace the drain plug before adding oil, when the stores are closed, and no lights in your garage is not smart.  And finally fixing it by headlight not advised.  There is a reason spark plugs have washers-don’t remove them.  I have over tightened nuts only to have them spin free, under tightened only to have them fall off, and forced a standard thread on a metric-damaged for good, just not mine.  I have forced a 16” tube over an 18” rim, I have forced a single pole bulb into a double pole socket, and cut things too short-missing by that much.  I could probably walk you through an engine rebuild, but run when I grab a wrench.  I have used too much gasket glue, dropped the last nut and never heard it hit the floor, and always have extra parts left over after fixing anything, and when it was once joked that I should call Ford and tell them how to save money by not using so many nuts and bolts, I was stopped by it being pointed out it was a joke.  Chains either stay too loose, or are so tight they make the motorcycle pull.  And never have me fix anything by color-I am color blind and can put a blue plug into a red with disastrous results.  Knives are used to strip screws, hammers to adjust, and vise grips to remove bolts after the heads are stripped off.  So I adhere to the old adage, “if you have someone to cook your food, cut your hair, or fix your motorcycle, let them do it and don’t interfere.”  So I don’t, leaving me to question others like myself who are mired in frustration, “why do it right when you can do it yourself?”

But when faced with the inevitable, I try to follow the instructions.  Like the time we needed a new garage door opener, my wife refused to get out and open it in the rain.  So off to Home Cheepo I go, but a good one, and spend the next 2 hours doing a 45 minute job.  And it still won’t work!  So after taking it apart for the 4th time, I note instead of having three pieces-A-B-C, I have A-B-B.  Even the packers are out to get me.  So going back I get the right one, and soon the garage door opens at the push of  button, the throwing of tools ceases, and I have escaped major injury.  And my wife stays dry when it rains, so maybe persistence can win out over lack of skills. 
And only yesterday when the printer stopped printing, it only took 2 hours to fix a 5 minute remedy.  I seems the instructions were serious when they included step 8, quitting after step 7 fixes nothing, but does add to the aggravation.  And my other accomplishments include, gate won’t open, fixed-now it won’t close either.  AC in car won’t work-fix window crank, now window opens.  Car horn honks on hard right turns-disconnect horn.  But it just isn’t me-I know guys who have put antifreeze in the washer bottle-almost impossible to get off of car and windshield.  I had a tech once put 26 quarts of oil in an engine, and it seized.  His last job was fixing it before he was fired.  I have seen the good tires onteh right side of a car replaced, leaving the bald ones on the other right side unchanged.  So maybe I am not an isolated instance....maybe I am like the joke, “how many does it take to change a light bulb?”  “It depends on how much the light bulb wants to change.”

And so we are brought to those who consider themselves religious.  Who take Jesus, add some laws, regulations, and think they have something better.  We are currently studying Jesus+nothing=everything, and it is true.  We have it all in Christ, no need to be circumcised, no need for special clothes, for making donation pledges, or for acting holy.  We are told if we follow the law, we need to be better than a Pharisee, we need to shine ahead of him more than he does when following him by a 1000 feet.  Too tiring for me.  Yet some approach god like I do tools, they find it is better to make it impersonal, to let someone else get hurt.  Developing their own sense of religion.  Some want to borrow tools, giving them back broken and unusable-and they call that religion.  But most, if not all, choose what fits their life, changing the Bible to fit them, rather than changing to fit God’s plan.  And ending up worse, and not knowing why.  They are the do-it-yourselfers, reinventing the wheel and ending up with a flat tire.  And flat lives, creating their own gospel.  Sadly the gospel we know best, and live most is the gospel of us.  And there is no room for Jesus and our ways.  You cannot serve two masters, and both suffer, so we have to make a choice.  Serve or be served.  Accept Jesus as He is and we change for the better, or accept Jesus and stay the same, blaming God for our mistakes.  It is said you can’t fix stupid, and stupid hurts, if you know that going in, why still do it?  If life was so good, why were you looking for help in it?  Why change if your life is so perfect?

Because we will always have a hole there in our lives that only Jesus can fill.  Cars, money, jobs, houses, and Home Depot cannot fill the need.  It takes Jesus.  It takes us being the wise man who built his house upon the rock, so when the rains came he was safe.  Too late to build after, then it is called rebuild.   So why do it yourself when you can have Jesus?  So why do we do it wrong when we do it ourself?  Make today that last trip to Life Depot, give it all to Jesus.  Home, cars, jobs-He can fix them all.  And show us how to not redamage them again. The Bible, the repair manual for life, and you can know the author personally, no signed copy, but His mark on your life for others to see.  And the evidence of how things change when you follow Him.  Follow His directions instead of your own...and end up where you need to be, rather than where you wish you weren’t. 

Why do it right when you can do it yourself?  The choice is yours.  Like the ad says, “pay me now, or pay me later.”  If you don’t have the time to do it right the first time, why can you always find time to do it the second?  Or third?  God provides the tools you need for life, the instructions, and the way, the truth, and the life to follow.  All found in one man.  Jesus plus nothing equals everything.  How you spend your time is up to you.  You can either join the club of ______, turning riders into mechanics for 90 years, or follow Jesus.  I rather ride than wrench.  Let’s compare stories sometime...I have the scars to prove it.  Now I have the trips.

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot

too young to look this old

The Mustang turns 50 years old today.  It is hard to believe that it was that long ago that Ford changed automotive lifestyles for millions with its introduction.  Based on the platform of the best selling Falcon, it was a short trunk, long hood style reminiscent of Classic cars from the 30’s.  Just big enough for two, and maybe two small kids, this was the baby boomer generation after all, sporty enough to look like fun, and a model for everybody.  Secretaries drove six cylinders, while gear heads had a Hi-Po 289 with 271 horses.  Carroll Shelby used it as the basis for his Shelby Mustangs, incredibly fast cars 50 years later.  Hertz rented them on weekends, rent on Friday, race on Sunday, return on Monday.  It was advertised “presenting the unexpected,” and it did.  The early ones referred to as 1964 1/2, they were all really 1965 models, and the Pony car war was on.  Barracuda had been released a few weeks earlier, and it would take Chevrolet until 1966 to release the 1967 Camaro, but Ford had it all first, and foremost.  And being 10 at the time, and fascinated by cars, I can remember seeing my first Mustang...

It belonged to Joey Coleman’s mom, who had traded her 1951 Chevy 2 door coupe for it.  A big deal in the suburbs, as mothers car pooled then, and a station wagon would have been a better conveyance for us kids.  But I admire her choice, it was gray, with a red interior, automatic and the 260 cubic inch V-8, the small V-8, that lasted only a short time.  She would take us for rides around the block, windows down, breeze in our crew cuts, and man we were living.  And for a kid whose parents drive a 4-door Rambler American, this was heaven.  It couldn’t get any better...Then Bruce and Barry’s dad bought a 1966, silver with black vinyl top, with a six cylinder, auto.  Those white walls giving the car a classy look compared to Joey’s mom’s black walls.  And soon they were showing up everywhere.  In school Mr. Dyer had one.  A 1967, dark blue coupe.  Mr. Corea had the same combination, except it had the hi-po 289 with headers, the only quality I ever liked about him.  My eighth grade basketball coach Mr. Ubersax had a yellow 1966 with a 289, with sand bags in the trunk, they were so light in the rear end they would lose traction.  A neighbor on my paper route had a 1967 fast back, gold, and I was careful not to touch when I looked inside.  Mustangs had taken over America, everyone wanted to feel young, and to quote the ad, “Mustang made it happen!”

But my first time behind the wheel was at the World’s Fair in New York in 1964.  Ford used their Rotunda to introduce the Mustang, and you could sit behind the wheel on a guided tour.  Carefully choosing our place inline, so as to get a Mustang, they alternated with Mercury Comets, we got my wish and soon I was behind the wheel, not sure of what I saw, but the view over the hood was glorious.  A ride that ended too soon, and with parents who didn’t want to wait another two hours in line.  But I had my first seat time, some day I would have one.  Now along the way I had friends with Mustangs, Nicky had a 1968 6 cylinder on its last legs, but Vinny had a 1969 Boss 302.  Which he would let me drive, my leg still sore from the stiff clutch.  Unbelievably fast, and worth a year’s pay today, I wish I had one just like it, stiff clutch and all.  But Mustangs were to enter my life, first a 1986 GT convertible, Theresa’s car, 5-speed with headers, it was fast.  Loved to do burnouts, as did my sons riding in the back.  It was our only car for awhile, even taking us on Christmas vacation once, where at 150,000 miles we traded it for a new Thunderbird.  But along the way things started to go wrong, a flat tire, and then the headlights wouldn’t shut off, causing all the patrons in Burger King to notice.  We pretended it wasn’t ours, and laughed the whole ride after.  But it was showing its age....and soon it was good bye Mustang, hello T-Bird, and no cruising to the hamburger stand in her old man’s car, it was hers.  Forget about the library.  But life with Mustang wasn’t over yet, as a new 2001 convertible still sits in the garage, and is used on Cruisin’ Grand, trips to Sonic and the beach, and all with the top down.  So for 50 years Mustangs have made an impact on my life, and I cannot believe it really 50 years.  I’m too young to look this old, or feel it either.  Not quite old enough to be a classic, and not what you would consider collectible, I still have many original parts, save for my aorta.  But as I look around, I see many afraid to get old, to age like Mustang did.  And they end up looking worse for the wear. 

It’s funny how when the Mustang came out, I wanted to look older, so as to pass for 12 and get into movies I wasn’t allowed in yet.  And now approaching 60, I feel young, and any compliment saying “you don’t look your age,” is appreciated.  Of course only if it means I look younger than I am.  Yet I see so many ravaged by sin in their life, taking a toll on them.  Toothless, hairless, and hard of hearing, we will all get old someday.  Some at an early age, so never growing up like I plan.  And it shows in my  life style, no sedans for me, and cars are the option, we ride.  Which keeps us young.  But I find my relationship with Christ is the main reason I feel young.  He takes my burdens, and my worries, and sometimes my only worry is that I don’t worry.  I have learned to walk in His steps, and find it more exciting, and less dangerous. For 39 years now I have been a Christian, and with Jesus leading I still feel young.  Sometimes I feel too young to be this old, passing younger riders while riding.  I prefer the top down to surround sound, headers make their own type of music.  And I find many others who trust God look and feel the same. We wake up to “Good morning Lord,” instead of “good Lord, it’s morning.”  We feel young, think young, and have found the fountain of youth in Christ.  We are going to live forever!  And get a new body in heaven to show for it.  Now I can tell you mine is wearing out, but my relationship with Christ isn’t.  I exercise that more than any other part of my  body, and it keeps me young.  And keeps me alert, and full of joy.  A blessing and a testimony to a life in Christ.  A choice we make, and one I made and have seen the results.

In a life of looking back, I talk to ones who are happy just to “sit up and take their meals.”  To some that are waiting to die.  Who have neglected God, and aged before their time.  Wore out, and feeling useless, but not to Jesus.  He is patient, and is keeping many alive just to be saved.  If you haven’t chosen Him, choose Him today.  Why get old, when you can only get older?  To be in His will and way and enjoy every bit of life He has to offer.  Some will make a visible change, like Joey’s mom from her ‘51 Chevy to a ne Mustang.  Some will always lead a sedan life, wondering what it may have felt like riding with the top down, wind in their hair when they had it.  And some will never enjoy the knowledge of heaven.  I plan to see it first hand, to be there someday.  My reservation is made, my house in process.  50 years ago Ford changed how we look at life with the Mustang, 39 years ago Jesus changed my life when I accepted Him.  What do you look back on?  What are driving today?

Too young to look this old?  Jesus has the answer, ask Him into your life today and start living.  Top down, wind in your hair.  Radio blaring, cruisin’ and enjoying life.  He calls it blessed.  What you call it is between you and Him.  So don’t let anything stand between you and Him.  We all get older, some are old already.  The only growing I intend to do is in Christ.  He calls me a kid.....I like that. And still just old enough to drive...”only Jesus makes it happen!”

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

  

an Easter Carole

The Easter Lily goes back to the Garden of Gethsemane where they sprung up after Christ was arrested there.  They have come to represent purity, love, and faith-based upon the sweat of Jesus hitting the ground there.  These white robed apostles of hope grew after His arrest, a reminder this Easter to us of His death and resurrection to all believers around the world.  But 45 years ago I didn’t know that, but had a new girlfriend, Carole, and needed money, so the Easter lily came into my life.  But I am ahead of myself, so back to the beginning.

We were both sophomores at Scotch Plains Fanwood High School, having come from the two different junior high schools in town.  We were both part of the clique, I was a jock, she was a cheerleader, so our paths crossed naturally.  But she had a boyfriend, Gary, a senior, who I knew from summers at Brookside Park.  They had been a couple the whole year, but this spring they had broken up, and I got the word she liked me, so I put out the word liked her.  And the romance began.  For one week it meant late to class, as I carried her books, and ate lunch with her.  We talked on the phone every night, but I always felt inferior to Gary-he had a job, a car, and they could go out on real dates.  For us it was, well not real.  So needing money, I went to work at Parker’s Wholesale Florist, a huge farm next to Terrill Jr. High, where we had seen the flowers growing for years.  It was always a place for kids to get work, no social security number needed, and since it was Easter time, and they grew lilies, I got in easy.  And started on the Saturday before Easter.  Millions of lilies, reminding me of the popular Who song “Pictures of Lily,” and my job was to stand in a greenhouse, sweating over lilies, wrapping them in colored foil and placing them in a box for shipment, careful not to damage them.  All for $1.60/hour, and for 8 hours I would make over $12.00, enough to keep me well for a week or two in gifts for my new friend.  But around noon, I was exhausted, my legs and hands hurt, and I wanted to see Carole.  So at lunch, which was really lunch time, eaten where you stood, when the whistle blew, you ate what you brought, which for me was nothing.  So I had to look for a way out, finally realizing I could just walk out, which I did, and was down the road when the lunch over whistle blew.  My testosterone in full bloom like the lilies, I was hitching to Carole’s hose and would surprise her, what an act of love, and she would be so surprised she would fall into my arms, and....But it was raining, and she lived as far from Parker’s as you could and still be in Scotch Plains, so I hitched.  Got a ride pretty quick, and only had to walk half a mile in the rain to her house.  Somewhere between the adrenaline and the testosterone, I was sweating, and didn’t even mind the rain, all I could see was Carole.  But when I came up the street to her house, my heart sunk.  There was Gary’s car parked out front, what was he doing there?  Maybe going to get some old things he left there from his time with her, but my mind somehow knew it was over, and I turned around and walked in the downpour to the gas station.  I was going to call her, confront her on the phone, except some friends of Gary’s worked there, this would not be cool.  So I hitched and walked home in the rain, catching cold, nothing compared to my broken heart, and making up some story neither of my parents believed.  And after a meal, I hadn’t eaten all day, and a hot shower, I retreated to my room, and called Carole.  I was hurt, mad, and she was going to feel the pain I did,  again boy was I wrong.

When she picked up the phone, I said “hi, how are you,” a brilliant conversationalist at an early age, and she said we have to talk.  Now even then as it does today, that is not good news, and it means I talk, and you listen. So of course I gave the time tested answer, “sure,” and I did.  She explained how they had made up, and they were right for each other, and hit me with the time honored offer of “can we still be friends?”  Again a mumbled “sure” was the answer, and my broken heart healed, and when I was a senior with a license I too found true love with a sophomore.  Again a car and job, not to mention I had gotten to be a pretty sweet talker by then, put me in the position Gary had enjoyed two years before.  But I never went back to wrapping lilies, and today when I see them, I can remember my 4 hours of torture wrapping them.  Which was nothing compared to the time Jesus spent in the garden, or His 6 hours on the cross.  Nor can the love He expressed that day in any way compare with my adolescent urges.  His is true love, and now I see lilies in a different way.  Giving my story of An Easter Carole a different place of importance.  There would be other girlfriends, and finally my wife of 36 years, and 36 Easters, but today it is Jesus that I look to on the day.  His empty tomb reminding me of how empty my heart felt when I saw Gary’s car, if only I knew then what I do now.  You cannot make someone love you, it truly is an affair of the heart.  We love Him because He loved us first.  And although lilies are pretty, they cannot come close to knowing Jesus personally.

And so today join me in celebrating Jesus, and His life, death, and of course His resurrection.  Look at the lily as a source of hope, and joy, planted years ago by God in a garden, and watered by the very tears of His son.  Tears He wept for you and for me, for He knew what was ahead for us, but also for Him, and He went voluntarily.  Look at Easter Sunday this year by looking to Jesus, and rather than having an Easter Carole, have a great day remembering Him by showing love to someone else.  Carols are fro Christmas anyway, another good time to remember Jesus.  Show your wife some special love today, a good practice for every day, and maybe send her a flower, but keep in mind there is no replacement for being there, so God sent Jesus.  What will you send today?

And if you have fallen from grace, Jesus still extends His open arms to you, “yes you can still be friends,” He never stopped loving you.  And if He tells you “we need to talk,” listen, as He has plans for you, for good things, not a break up, but for reconciliation.  At His expense.  Sure beats a walk home in the rain.  Ask for His forgiveness today, and accept Him into your life.  Lilies, gardens, the cross, and an empty tomb...all signs that God so loved the world.  And the evening His tears hit the ground for you, and how much He loves you.  Plant a lily of love today-foil wrapping optional.  I made $6.40 the day my heart broke, but I got it all back the day Jesus’ heart broke for me, and I let Him into mine.  Lilies, anyone?

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

old songs, old car, old girls-they just seem new now

You may listen to classic rock, but I was there.  I remember when FM was an unexpected surprise on your friend’s parents radio, and you could listen to album cuts, not just the scaled down AM version.  I was thrilled the first time I heard “Light My Fire” by The Doors album version.  Almost 7 minutes-or the length of three songs on WABC, the most powerful AM station in the world.  A whole side of an album, Side 1, with hit after hit, and I was there.  We had WNEW-FM, the first rock station with no format, compare that to today’s preprogrammed radio, packaged and sent out to stations everywhere.  We had Pete Fornatale, Allison Steele, the NIghtBird, Scott Muni, and others who would stir our souls with great music depending on their moods.  Ever hear Sgt. Pepper played by side instead of song, we did.  There was even a long version of American Pie, you think the one played often today is long!  We heard cuts from Chicago, Lighthouse, Gordon Lightfoot before you could read his mind, Ten Wheel Drive, jazz that wasn’t smooth, and live concerts.  This was New York City in the 1967-72 period, and music was fresh, alive, and exciting.  I can still hear Nicky Hopkins playing piano for Quicksilver....or is it all in a dream?

For oldies we had WCBS-FM, playing greaser music from the 50’s, although only 10-15 years old, it was oldies, because music was moving so fast.  And so moods still filled a spot our radio pushbuttons.  WQIV, with King Biscuit Flour Hour, live concerts, where a room full of audience made it sound like a concert hall of 10,000 listening.  Groups from England like Camel, beautiful instrumentals, Andy Ward the drummer the brother of Ian who I worked with.  10 CC, playing Rubber Bullets, Eric Anderson’s unreal solo voice, and so many groups who never were one hit wonders, but whose music lived on in the special moment we first heard it.  Today they call it Classic, back then it was new and exciting...and bought on albums, with two sides, each side produced to fit a mood....but to the new generation hearing them they only sound new.

But it just wasn’t the music, it was getting your license, and the first date, the first real date, a car date, with the radio playing and helping to set the mood.  Times you remember like they were yesterday, and they were-many yesterdays ago.  Driving to the lake, and the radio cutting in and out as you dipped in valleys, looking at your watch nervously, counting the minutes you had left until the car and you had to be home...passing the time with music.  Maybe listening to Don McLean, putting your date in the mood, trying to coax her closer to you, sitting on bench seats, in a four door sedan.  Maybe your parent’s car had a rear speaker, not many stereos in cars yet, or you had an 8-track, and you could pick from four tracks at any one time.  It was the music that set the mood, the car that took you there, and the girl who object of it all....old songs, old cars, and old girls-and in our memories they only seem new now.  We were pre-classic, no Classic Coke yet either, and we looked forward, just not to Viet Nam.  And today when we hear the same Led Zeppelin songs over and over, when you hear Layla in two versions, when Blood,Sweat, and Tears meant “You’ve Made Me So Very Happy, when Country Joe asked “what are we fightin’ for,” and Elton John sang “Your Song,” we were living it, we were there.  Never did we think that we would become classics, Classical music was for longhairs, we had longhair, but they were the originals.  So when talking with younger people, and they ask did you ever hear of Jim Croce, they just heard him on the radio, your mind goes back 40 years, before his plane crash and his songs moved you.  We were so busy making memories that we were looking ahead, not looking back.  But things were changing, Fillmore East was closed, FM was discovered by the trendy folks, and soon it was like AM.  Muscle cars soon became extinct due to insurance regulations, horsepower gave way to miles per gallon, and your date now wanted a relationship before that first kiss.  “Do you respect me?” she’d ask, and of course we lied “yes.”  We had dreams, visions, expectations, and tomorrow.  We had music that moved us, cars that excited us, and  girls to remember.  And today when we hear that song, we go back, before we were classics, and we were making the memories instead of reliving them.  We know what it was like, if only history would do us and it justice.

And then along came Jesus into my life, and it all changed.  We are told to not let the customs of the world transform us, but we were already transformed, we just weren’t Born Again.  We had it all, except we had nothing, something was missing.  We heard of God, even used His name in vain, but when He became real, it all changed.  Suddenly music changed, and to me it all died in 1975 when I was Born Again.  Music after 1975 just doesn’t do it for me, I had heard a new song, and old girls, old cars, and old songs were behind me.  I truly had a future, but was caught in the past.  It would eventually take a miracle to get me out of Jersey, but the memories of nights listening to WNEW-FM still remain.  They had set a tone of freedom, of free thought, to ask questions and search for musical answers, sadly they didn’t know they were only to be found in Jesus.  So when scripture tells us to be transformed in the way we think, we don’t get it.  Our heart has changed, but we think the same, at least for a while.  Then we begin to see who we are in Christ, and we find ourselves thinking different, a different attitude, a fresh outlook.  And just like the first time we heard FM with no format, we find life has new format, and we have a freedom we didn’t know existed.  We are free from religion, Jesus is the new format, and He wails when He enters your life.  His song is new, although over 2000 years old.  And that day becomes the day of demarcation-BC and AD, before and after.  But the memories still play the same...

Are you still longing for the good old days?  Is your life filled with the past, because you feel you have no future?  Are the old songs still fresh, the old girls the same?  Do old cars take you back?  Then you are not alone, in fact you are more normal than you may care to admit.  But now my memories take me back, and allow me to look ahead.  I have a purpose, a desire for more out of life, and Jesus fulfills it.  His song is new every morning, and fresh.  His memories to come excite me, and remind me of how far I have come, and how my mind has been renewed.  But the old songs also remind me of how close I had come to not finding Him, if not for the grace of God, I too would only have memories, and lsiten to Classic Rock.  But for me Jesus has become that rock, a late night DJ when I need one to play the tunes my heart needs.  To take me back, and bring me back.  Every day with Him seems new, and the memories fresher.

Do you desire new memories, or do the old ones still haunt you?  Have your mind transformed today, your heart changed, and a new song played-the song of Jesus.  Tunes you never heard, words with meaning, and true love, all the things we were looking for  back then.  For some things don’t change, like Jesus, but we can.  Classic or not-old songs, old girls, and old cars can all seem new again, when our future is based on Christ.  Put Him in the first groove and let Him wail!

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

 

 

bragging rights

Money talks, and after watching the Mecum Collector Car Auction this weekend, I found it also rides and drives.  And those with the loudest wallets spend the loudest.  Some records were set, $7 million for a 1964 Ford GT40 prototype, and $50,000 for a 1971 Husqvarna 250.  Once owned by Steve McQueen, it brought over 10 times what a non-famous owner one did, buying the new owner bragging rights to his bike, and being able to say he has one and you don’t.  For only $50k-such a deal!  But many other memories were purchased and realized this weekend, as those who came to seek and find did, those who came to seek and buy went home with new vehicles.  But sadly the highest priced ones, the exclusive ones, the most desired ones will never be driven, they are trailer queens, much different from Steve McQueen’s, who used to ride all his old bikes.  An attitude I like myself, as I ride my collectible Suzuki GS1000 monthly.  What good is it if it can’t be ridden, I bought it for fun, it just happens to appreciate every year.  But full appreciation is never realized until it is sold, and the new owner gets to show off to his friends, giving him the new bragging rights.  And setting the true value of the object, whether it be cars, motorcycles, art, or dreams as what you pay for them.  And this weekend many dreams were realized, while others found the buy in price still unobtainable.  But then there is always the next auction, or a for sale sign waiting for us to inquire.  But yet the dreams continue, as the cost of buying into them goes up, and many seem forever out of reach.

But yet many cars traded for obtainable amounts.  Corvettes from $7250, a daily driver, to the 1967 with just 2996 original miles for $725.000-guess which one gets the most space in the garage tonight.  You may be surprised that the guy who spent the least may have gotten the most, for he will be out driving his car, spending time waxing it and keeping it in tune, rather than locking it up where no one can see or touch it.  And for less than a used Hyundai, has something fun to drive, and still to impress his friends with.  And with all the excitement of the auction, goes home with a story to tell, of how he outbid everyone else and won the car.  For a price, of course.  And the same thrill of hearing he won the bidding war...a victory at any price. 

Now not all things are collectible, and some are just important to their owners.  I have the first bottle of diet Coke produced by Durango Coca Cola Bottling, and signed by the crew.  No value to anyone but me, it sits but I have one, do you?  And it is more important to say I have the first as opposed to the one sitting in the fridge waiting to be consumed when thirsty.  One refreshes the thirst, the other the memory.  Each one at a price, but for a different purpose.  And so bragging rights come in all shapes, sizes, colors, and prices...with the tag line “I have one and you don’t” making whatever the price worthwhile.  It being Easter this Sunday, I am reminded of the Roman troops drawing lots to see who got the robe of Jesus.  Now whether it was rock-paper-scissors, short straws, or rank winning out, I wonder why would they want this poor man’s clothes?  What could they be worth to anyone?  And what did his wife say when he brought them home?  “You got these where?  And you want me to wash them with the other clothes?”  So what were these men thinking, what made them do it?  We never know, but just for instance, may help you look at yourself in Christ in a different way.  So many who don’t know Jesus still wear crosses around their necks-very trendy.  But how many would still wear them if persecuted for it?  How many by wearing one show this is the only relationship they have with Him?  As if it kept evil and vampires away?  But yet so many use the icon of the cross, in vain.  So if you wear one, why?  Can you share the gospel if asked?  Or is it just a pretty bling item in your wardrobe?  To Jesus the cross meant death and horror, to us it means salvation.  Not to be taken and worn without value.  It points to Jesus, who always points to His Father in heaven, and the way for us to be reunited with Him in heaven some day.  But when we come to Christ, we also see how He bartered for us with His very life, and when we repent and accept Jesus as Lord we win the auction.  We won the auction, He lost His life.  And He has the bragging rights to our souls, for only Jesus saves.  And He isn’t a trailer queen only driven on Sundays.  He is not just among the wealthy or privileged, He is there for everyone, and anyone who calls on His name.  That day at the cross, some men bargained for His clothes, but were unwilling to bargain for His life.  Or theirs.  They were that close to Jesus, on the most important day of His life, and they blew it.  The originals who could say “been there, done that, and I have the shirt to prove it.”  But missed out on why and who. 

Today you can choose who you serve, a well manicured God who dresses nice on Sundays for all to see, or one who hung on the cross.  Who got down in the dirt with sinners, who paid the ultimate price for bragging rights for your soul.  And who will guarantee your safety into eternity, and beyond.  What auction of souls can promise what Jesus did and does?  Maybe that is why Jesus will still wear His scars in heaven, so we can see the road He took for us.  An all original Jesus, no replacement parts or rebuilds done.  He is as He was when He died, so that we can be as He lives when we die.  The first, the original, the only.

Who has bragging rights to you will show where you worship.  Some do it on two wheels, some on four.  But those who know Jesus do it on their knees...in awe.  In their hearts.  Maybe that makes the price of His garments worth more, it did that afternoon to the guards.  I prefer to know the man who wore them that day...the value being in knowing the person.  Steve McQueen’s name on the title may inflate the price, and give bragging rights to the new owner, having your name in the Book of Life and knowing who brags on you means eternity.  You are what you are paid for, and Jesus paid it all.  So keep your wallet closed, mouth shut and ears open-here comes the deal of your life.  He gave the shirt off His back for you, what are you willing to give Him?  Jesus Christ, I have Him, do you?  What do you have to brag about?

love with compassion,

Mike

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