About twenty-five years ago my younger son and I were car shopping. Chris was a new driver. He was a good kid, the kind of young man that makes his dad want to do something special for his son. Chris's driving career had been behind the wheels of the "Blue Bomb," the "Gray Ghost," and the "Preacher Car." These names were given to well-used used vehicles that made up the wheels available to my son. They were named as sort of an act compensation. These weren't the kinds of vehicles that made a young man's heart pump faster. They were utilitarian vehicles. They weren't pretty. Mostly they would get you where you were going. That was their chief virtue.
We were looking for a car that would be Chris's. I don't remember whether it was Chris or me who saw the ad for the Fiat Spyder. Kind of as a father-son adventure we took the hour trip to see the little Italian sports car. Both of us really liked it. Chris wasn't real good with a stick-shift, yet, so I drove it. I wanted the car. More than that, I wanted Chris to have it. There was a sticker on the window of the little car that referred to some church or Christian ministry. Chris turned the radio on to check it out. The radio was already tuned to a Christian radio station. "Dad, it's a Christian car."
Maybe, but it was also a car that cost more than I could pay at the time. So the last time we saw "la macchina" was as we drove away, both of us disappointed.
The other day I saw a picture of a 1978 Ford 150. Shiney blue. Incredibly low mileage. Chris's daughter is learning to drive. She is the kind of young lady that makes a dad proud and a grandpa brag. She has been in business for a couple of years. She cuts grass and takes care of people's yards. She has saved her money and bought her own equipment. She doesn't want a car--I don't think the little Spyder would get a second look from her. She wants a TRUCK. She is, after all, a Texan. I haven't talked to her, but I'm confident she would like to have a truck that's more twice as old as her, and would cause people to ask, "Where'd you get that. I'm even more sure that her dad wanted her to have it. But alas, like the Fiat, the Ford wasn't to be. The Fiat cost too much, out of sight from the camera the Ford has too much rust and some other problems associated with old-age.
Reality. Most of us confess to being realists. We clearly want others around us to keep their feet rooted
in what is, not in what they wish it were. But deep down, I wanted the little convertible for my son, and the big Ford for my granddaughter. I'm almost 71 and I'm still working on the balance. Having dreams keeps me going. Not dealing rightly with reality makes me starry-eyed and useless. When I'm thinking clearly I realize that dreaming of Fiats, Fords, and big victories is OK, even good. I've seen a lot of dreams come true, but living as if the fulfillment of my dreams is what I have coming, or thinking that there is some magic formula that makes Pedro's campaign promise--"All your dreams will come true."--a reality is a sure route to frustration or worse.
Kira, make me #3. I would have liked for you to have truck, but trust God. Know that Romans 8:28 still applies. It covers Italian cars, classic trucks, and old men's dreams. welcome to the club.
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