A near death experience can make you introspective and sentimental, which comes across as kind of creepy if you're 12. At a ripe young age, being faced with your own mortality after a nice serving of sirloin tips from the sizzler as a result of a trucker careening into a parking lot not suited to his lower middle class chariot doesn't make you a 'life of the party' type. Although, at that age, a role like that seems to extend as far as the mastery of holding your punch and blindly throwing tails onto a varying assortment of mammals, depending, as always, on the party's theme.
After the accident, it was imperative that a new vehicle was obtained posthaste, because despite His divine providence, apparently God does NOT in fact teleport you to all prayer circles and bible study groups taking place within the Northwest-Florida tri-county area. With such a holy mission set before it, any contender to be a new mode of transportation for this family clearly had it's work cut out for it. Or at least one would hope. Clearly the universe has a sense of humor, although being in a small, white, Judeo-Christian community located in the south with strong military ties probably tilted the odds pretty strongly in the favor of our fair galaxy's laughter.
Touring the used car lot brought the overall level of hope in the promise of a new car to mediocre. As in, "Maybe they'll be something available that won't make drowning in shame" seem like a probable outcome of the purchase. Then, low and behold, a successor was chosen, on a barometer that couldn't quite be understood by any rational being.
Was it a newer car? No.
Did it have low mileage? No.
Were all seat belts functional? No.
Did the speedometer work? No.
Yet despite all the pitfalls that would have discounted any normal car, there was manifest destiny, or some other french word, at work. What the car didn't have in looks, charm, features, or basic safety functionality, it more than made up for it's stance in spiritual warfare.
Did it have seating for 8, to help accomadate as many neighborhood children as possible in their travels to Youth groups and Vacation Bible Schools? Yes.
Did it have a 'Jesus Fish'? Yes.
Did the car salesman, out of good Christian sentiment, decide to include some of his wife's organically grown watermelons, from his home, for free, at no charge, included? Yes.
Did the car happen to be the exact same make and model as the one that gave it's life in exchange for a delicious trip to half priced sizzler Wednesday? Yes.
And that's how a soul crushingly gunmetal grey Buick Century Station Wagon with 120,000 miles, limited safety features, no heat or a/c, and a vanity plate reading "GODZ4U2" became the principle form of transportation for the formative years of my life, again.
... Tragically, I am not adopted.
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