An ad on the Internet got me thinking last night about my first Mustang.
It was a 1965 coupe, with the 289 V-8, four barrel. Four on the floor, and
white in color. Whitewall tires, and a white vinyl top. It was to be my first
Mustang, my next one would enter my life almost thirty years later, but you
always remember your first Mustang. I even remember the price, $1.19, and with
paint and glue, I had almost $1.60 invested in it. For my first Mustang was not
a real car, in the sense of the word, but an AMT 3 in 1 customizing kit, a
model. And at age 11, before any of my other model building friends, I owned my
first Mustang, paid for in cash, and sitting on my shelf, the proud reminder of
an afternoon spent sitting at my parent’s kitchen table, deep in thought and
trying to keep the glue off the parts that showed, in my mind I was cruising the
streets of Scotch Plains, in real life I would settle for my friends being
jealous I had the first model of it. Many trips to unknown places were taken in
that car, I was the guy in the ads who when he had a Mustang suddenly became
cool, where all my friends were envious of me, and the girls wanted to ride with
me. I got the best parking space at work, spent sunny Saturdays washing her,
and out with the date of my choice that night. It was a perfect world, gas was
cheap, windows down the fresh air carrying the tunes of WABC and Cousin Brucie
outside. And then my mother interrupted, “time for dinner, pack it up and put
it away, for later.”
Reality can hit hard sometimes, and it would be almost thirty years later
until my first real Mustang, a 1986 GT convertible, white of course, with
a Flowmaster exhaust and five speed. 225 horsepower under my foot anytime I
wanted it, and suddenly I was that 11 year old kid again, burning rubber, day
dreaming of racing from stop light to stop light. Having pretty girls and cool
guys look at me with envy, I could rev the motor and thrill kids not yet old
enough to drive, be the cool dad who didn’t carpool because we didn’t have
enough seats, and even my kids thought it was cool. Then the guy in the Toyota
honked at me, “hey man the lights green,” and suddenly all the cool was gone.
The other cars looked at me differently, no burnout, just a sedate take off, not
trying to draw any more attention to me. And at the next light, only staring
straight ahead, as embarrassed as I was, I didn’t want to repeat the process.
Oh, how I wished I was that 11 year old again, and how much easier life was
before it became reality.
Today we still have a Mustang in our garage, a 2015 red convertible with
300 horsepower, that when driving it takes 30 years of my age. I often wonder
when passing someone if they look at me and wonder “why does that old guy drive
a Mustang?” Aren’t cool cars, especially convertibles for younger people? Same
response when I take off my helmet when riding the Street Triple, one guy
commenting “I didn’t think old guys rode sport bikes.” Please don’t let the
gray in my beard mislead you, inside is the heart and soul of a teenager, the
packaging is just a bit worn and needs some repair. But inside, I am still that
11 year old, except now I have the memories of what I used to dream of etched in
my memory from reality. I still day dream sometimes, but find solace in looking
back, at the cars, motorcycles, and the places I have ridden, meals I have
eaten, and time zones I have crossed. My reality much better than any of my
dreams, and I only have God to thank for them. Frank Sinatra might have sung “I
did it my way,” but I find that when I do it my way, I end up with glue all over
the exposed parts. A run in the paint, standing in the wrong line, and wishing
I had listened to God. But when trusting him, which will show in your actions,
faith without them is dead after all, I have so much and so many good times to
show. Even in the toughest of times, Jesus was there, sometimes seat belted in,
he knew the ride would be rough. Other times just smiling as he saw the smile
on my face, and often shaking his head, “back off the gas Mike...” But never
making fun of me, but somehow loving me, and in every occurrence, showing how
much he cared. Jesus was once an 11 year old boy too. If only I would face my
future like he did, fully trusting his father, despite knowing the outcome. I
guess I can day dream, but I am glad his life is intertwined with mine, a
greater reality that can never be imagined. You need to experience Jesus in
person....
I often wonder, like Job must have, “where were all my friends with their
great advice before I had the problem? And how could they know so much if they
never walked in my shoes?” Yet we find Job’s three friends, all offering
advice to him, from a worldly perspective, except in their own minds, where
they consider it spiritual. Eliphaz telling him he must have sinned, for only
sinners are punished like he is. Just admit it, you’ll be OK. At least the
repenting part was right, sorta. For based on that philosophy, good things
mean we are good, and bad things mean we are bad. Contradicted by Psalm 73,
where the unrighteous seem to prosper at the expense of the righteous. But he
didn’t have the luxury of the New Testament yet, to see where Jesus explained
how in healing a blind man, it was to show the greatness of God, for he was born
blind, and his sin hadn’t been the cause of his blindness. Seems we all have
our own gospel or theology to explain away our actions....
So while some seek Jesus, others try to impress God with their goodness,
which he refers to as filthy rags. I have some in my garage, am I that bad? I
usually toss them out, I’m glad Jesus didn’t toss me out in my sinful nature.
But in religion where we are supposed to find freedom, we find being bound by
its rule and regulations,which only lead to more sin. The more laws the more
there are to break, hey I knew that before I was saved. Remember those trips to
the principals’ office....I do. So when Jesus offered me mercy, I jumped at
it. Give me all the grace you got, I love being forgiven, I love walking in the
spirit, I love Jesus in my life. And he is real, and when called for dinner, my
prayers, my conversations with him, are real. In Christ I have been able to put
all my old things aside, when it is his word and not mine, I now know peace, his
way is my way, not the opposite. Yet why do we still call him Lord, yet ignore
his words?
We all have holes in our theology from time to time. We still don’t have
all the facts, but this I know, only Jesus saves. My best day on earth in no
way will compare with my worst in heaven. I can live my life free in the spirit
he has given me, his only law being love. Despite his situation, Job knew God
better than his friends. He had that personal relationship with him not based
on laws. And God would honor him in his suffering, and reward him after. In
Job we can see the suffering of Jesus, but also the heaven that awaits us after
the trials of life. Take a good look at your theology today, where there are
holes, let Jesus fill them in. Put away childish denominational rhetoric. Let
no man deceive you. And if it means a little glue gets on your hands in the
process, look at the finished product and how it got there. My first Mustang
had all the marks of an 11 year old, our latest the marks of an older and
sometimes wiser teenager. Some of us may never grow up, but we all can grow in
Christ. How we see ourselves will reflect in our actions, but who Jesus is in
our life will reflect in our heart. So when asked for what do I want for
Christmas, I at first drew a blank. Then it hit me...to be that 11 year old kid
still expecting gifts on Christmas morning. So I asked for a model, and if you
don’t know me, I’ll be the one with glue on my fingers Christmas afternoon. And
Jesus Christ in my heart, that day and everyday. Christmas may only come once a
year.....but Jesus is the gift that keeps on giving!
I knew my first Mustang would not be my last. How glad I am that Jesus is
everlasting.
Just don’t forget to call me for dinner!
love with compassion,
Mike
matthew25biker.blogspotcom