Brad and me in Colorado...


It's kind of embarrassing, but this morning as I was ironing my shirt, I started thinking about our... iron. It doesn't work right. When left plugged in, even in the off position, it cracks and pops.

The embarrassing part is that years ago, a family member bought us a new one. Deanna and I separately tried to read through the instructions, but neither of us wanted to take the time to figure the new iron out. It's too complicated.

It still rests on shelf somewhere, waiting to be employed. Meanwhile, we nurse this twenty five (plus) year old relic along, because we are familiar with it. We sympathize with is nuances, though we don't understand why it misbehaves.

On the way home from work last Thursday, my '98 Malibu died. I work a mile or so from home. It didn't have to get me far. It was no longer equal to the task. We bought it years ago, and have poured money into it to keep it working.

When it died, it was the coldest day in Tulsa in a long while. I called my wife to let her know. She didn't answer. I tried again. She didn't answer.

I started calling other people and finally got the number of a wrecker to come rescue me. Interesting that it's called a 'wrecker.' The damage was done long before it even arrived.

Turns out, Deanna was racing around the house (minus her phone) cooking and cleaning before we left for Dallas that evening (to be with family). She was trying to get everything prepared. Amid her speed cleaning/cooking other issues distracted her and dinner burned.

I finally reached her after the 'wrecker' had been summoned. She was upset about her own issues. Mine probably didn't help.

While we were in Dallas, I kept having the sense that I wasn't going to get good news. As it turns out, the news never came until yesterday afternoon (when I was back at work).

The car is done. Finished. Dead.

I am forced to release the familiar old car, with all of it's character and nuances, to go find another.

I will miss the dent in the front right side, where one of my loved ones did a 360 on an icy road and got acquainted with telephone pole. That was back in Indiana, when I worked at the camp, and we lived on a winding country road.

That car has many other memories as well. It will be missed. It seems wrong to have to pay for towing and labor for a car that died.

I don't really have the option of utilizing the car as we do the iron. It's finished. Truth be told, so is the iron. We continue to use it anyway. It's easier than figuring out the new fancy one.

We have to let the car go. We'll keep the memories... those of BJ driving it, Deanna dropping him off at school each morning on her way to work, his leaning over to kiss his mom goodbye... even as a teenager. Those will remain precious to us.

Now we seek the Lord's provision for new transportation. I've always wanted a truck. Perhaps I will find one. Deanna's brother Stephen had a truck he was gonna give BJ, once he had his license. We got close. Stephen and Kandi sold that truck and gave the money to BJ's Hope Scholarship. What a blessing!

I've never owned a truck. I'd like to. It seems a bit foolish to have to lay out money we really don't have to buy something we really need. I know we've all been at that precipice, pondering when to jump.

Seeking His wisdom and direction is a bit like trying to decipher the instructions for the new hi-tech iron. It's not as simple as just turning it off and on. You have to go through a number of other steps. If we really focus, we will discern His will. I confess, it is far easier to do what I want to do, and not wait for Him.

I pray for His provision. I pray I do the right thing. I know He is interested in the details of my life. I just have to let Him show me the plan.

I'm not very patient. I guess I should pull out the new iron and let the other one rest. I just have to read the instructions and work into a new routine. I guess I need to wait upon the Lord, and seek His will. I'm gonna have to get used to a different vehicle.

His love is vast. He will provide. He will show the way.


brent