The first truck I owned was a
hunk of junk. Many parts had been replaced. The speedometer didn’t work; even
the radio was out of commission. There were holes in the floorboards you could
fall through. There was more Bondo than steel on the body; and I used piano
wire to hold the sides of the bed together enough to get the tail gate to
latch. The mirror frames were so rusted that strapping tape held the mirrors in
place. I called it Bobby
McGee
I knew the day had come to
replace the truck the day. I rolled over a rough railroad crossing. While sitting
at the next stop light, I noticed a man running up alongside of the cars that
were stopped. He was waving and holding something in his hand.
As he came alongside of me,
he slapped the side of my truck to get my attention. In his other hand, he had
a foot square piece of metal.
“If you’re going to drive a
piece of junk like this,’ he said, ‘at least have the decency to go back and
pick up the pieces you leave behind. This thing is a menace to any one driving
behind you.”
He handed me the piece of my
truck that had fallen off when I bumped over the railroad crossing and went
back to his car. That night I started looking in the classifieds for another
truck.
Hebrews reminds us that
earthly things are corruptible; trucks may come and trucks may go, but God’s authoritative
word and promise is forever.
Prayer
Lord, we give you thanks for
your constancy and your eternal caring. In your righteousness we are perfected
and in your kingdom we live in your own time forever. Amen
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