THE PASSING OF THE TORCH.

[This post is a long time in coming, but I wanted it to be known.]

When I got my permit, my parents let me drive them around in our automatic 4runner. The week after I turned 16, I went to the Pleasanton DMV to get my driver's license. When my dad got home, he handed me the keys to what would be my car for the next 6 years of my life - a silver 1992 Ford Escort that he had driven off the lot brand-new - with a manual transmission. After I informed my dad that I didn't really know how to drive a stick, he took my out for a lesson or two, and then I was left to sweat over getting the car rolling and stopping on hills.

I drove that car everywhere - to school every day, through blistering heat (with the windows down because of the absent air conditioning), through snow, to Davis and back countless times, to Southern California and back numerous times. I drove it on camping trips, I drove it to Yosemite, I drove it to Lake Alpine. I drove it in the wee hours of the morning, and across silent streets on many dark nights. It heard many a prayer, many tearful sobs, many loud and boisterous conversations as it carried my friends and I anywhere and everywhere. The car was a part of me.

This last August, I was blessed to be the recipient of a new car - the first "new" car my family had purchased since 1996. The new car was [and is] a blast to drive, but I knew that a familiar and treasured chapter of my life was to come to a close at last.

One of my favorite movies growing up [and still one of my all-time favorites] was Herbie the Love Bug. The movie had a special affinity for me because my dad raced Volkswagen bugs on dirt tracks around California, and I would sit in my dad's bug and pretend that I was racing in Herbie. But what I loved most about the story was the gratefulness that the main character felt for Herbie - a car that was more than a car.

My car got 35 miles to the gallon, and in all the years that I drove it, it never pooped out on my or overheated. But beyond the mechanics, it was more to me than a chunk of metal - it was a gift from GOD, and it's trustworthiness and dependability was a reminder to me of the surety of GOD's providence. What a joy it is when creation is redeemed in the little things of life, to do what they are created to do: a sturdy pair of shoes, a good walking stick, a worn hammer, a tattered hat, a jacket passed down from father to son. Then these things are no longer a piece of cloth, metal, or wood, but a whisper in our ears from GOD himself - "I'm watching over you. I'm with you. This is my creation doing what it was supposed to do."

Thanks for the ride, Jesus - every good and perfect gift comes from you. See you soon.