The car sat in the junk yard amid mountains of scrap metal and wrecked cars. The black paintwork faded and scratched with blue and white denoting previous paint jobs.
’What’s the matter with the car,’ my husband Bruce asked the owner of the junk yard. Bruce was searching for a cheap car that would get him for A to B reliably.
‘Something seems to be wrong with the clutch,’ the owner shrugged, kicking the tyre with a greasy boot.
‘How much do you want for it?’ Bruce asked, poking his head inside of the vehicle. ‘The leatherwork is a bit worn. Does it go all right apart from the clutch?’ Bruce looked under the bonnet fiddled with the battery terminals and other hoses, checked the mileage, ‘Is that the original mileage?’
‘Yeah, it goes OK, two owners.’ The owner shrugged, he did not care whether Bruce bought the car or not, he would pull it down and sell the parts for far more money.
‘OK, I’ll take it,’ Bruce knew he could be buying a pig in a poke. He knew that between he and his son-in-law, Arnie, they find the problem and fix Bruce didn’t believe one word the owner of the junk yard had told him but he wouldn’t be losing much if the car proved to be a lemon but he would gain a lot if it went like a charm.
The car was loaded onto a car trailer and arrived home. Bruce and Arnie set to work on the clutch. ‘No wonder the clutch won’t work, it’s been put together backwards,’ Bruce was amazed. Reassembling the clutch the right way the Corolla 140B was good to go, it was no lemon engine wise.
I loved the car for all the wrong reasons. I discovered it had a quick take-off. I would pull up to the lights and assess the drivers in the other cars, when the lights changed I would press the accelerator, everybody would be left in my dust. Of course, the bigger and more powerful cars soon overtook but I enjoyed my five seconds of being a hoon. It was gratifying to beat the hoons at their own game. It was illegal what I was doing but the temptation was sometimes too great when challenged by a young hoon. These moments of madness didn’t happen in a city, they happened in rural towns where traffic was lighter.
Bruce drove the Corolla to Adelaide to attend a Conference. He pulled into the car park alongside of a big, gleaming expensive car, the comparison between the two cars ludicrous. The owner and a colleague of Bruce looked disparagingly at the Corolla and said, ‘Surely the Lord could provide you with a better car than that. It’s a disgrace to the Lord to be driving around in a car like that.’ The Corolla was not beautiful to look at with its patchwork of paint jobs clearly seen.
‘Well, at least it’s paid for, I bet yours isn’t,’ Bruce was quick to point out. The ensuing silence proved his point.
The mists of the past hide the final story of the Corolla of many colours. It was a faithful old bomb and served us well for a long time.
There is one thing about God, he doesn’t care what we look like or where we have been and what we have done. Left to ourselves we are not the most loveliest of people. Jesus came and when we accept him, he beautify’s us because he loves us, cares for us. Jesus rescues us as Bruce rescued the car, fixed it up and loved it and cared for it.
God is not interested our looks, what we’ve done or not done, he is interested in whether we accept Jesus our rescuer or not. Jesus primarily came to save us, to make us righteous, to reconcile us to the Father and to enable us to enjoy the Father’s company on a personal basis.
Like Bruce and his car, God loves us, he wants us to function properly not battle with mental illness and poverty, or cheat on our partners as we search for fulfilment.
When we accept Jesus, God will be able to fix us up, make us new people. We’ll love God back. God will be satisfied that Jesus death to rescue us was not an empty exercise. He will be a winner, we will be winners, Jesus will have won.