Walking the Showrooms with Stefan: (Part One: “The Quest”)

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Spring had finally begun to seem as though it was,  finally, here to stay.

Stefan had come down with an acute case of ‘spring fever’.  It had been a decade since he had had a ‘classic’ ride of his own, And he felt that, if did not drive a ‘stick-shift‘ car soon, he might break down and steal one for a few hours just to luxuriate in the art of smooth clutching and shifting.

His daily driver, the ’05 Cavalier, was paid off.  He had secured, after endless pleading and pouting, his wife’s agreement to sell her “Mad Max’ and to use his negotiated portion of the proceeds to acquire an old ‘collector’ car to be his fair-weather driver.  His heart was set on an old rear-engined, aircooled Volkswagen.  It would be his sixth.  Its’ attainment filled his dreams and his prayers.  He had endured without one for too long.  His suffering was keen.

He set to work.  After posting ‘for sale’ ads in several Camaro forums; he began the search for his next “Precious”.  He searched his favorite two forums “The Samba” for VW’s; and Hemmings Motor News for VW’s and anything else old and having a manual transmission.  Given the limitations of his pool of funds; he needed to set the search parameters to a 500 mile radius of his home to get even a ‘short list’ of candidates.

He drove an hour to look at a ’68 Beetle with an “Automatic Stick“.

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 No clutch in that one; but manually shifted nonetheless, and, he thought, his wife might be able to drive it too.  Upon driving it, it was apparent that it would need some work and some more funds to be the ‘daily driver’ he had set his heart on.  It died at each stop sign, and steering it made it seem as though he were at the helm of the ‘Queen Mary’.  The seller had only just gotten it from someone who had it in a barn, and felt that drivability issues were insignificant compared the the ‘cachet’ of owning a Beetle.

Just driving it was worth the trip, though.   Stefan had thanked him and moved on.

He began to visit the major antique car shows and swap meets in the area.  This had once been a weekly ritual for him, and now, some 10 years since he had been to one, his fever heightened as he sniffed the aroma of old mohair and hot bake-lite in the interiors of the old cars he perused in the “car corral’  areas, where owners paid to show and sell their cars.

In one of these “corrals”  He found a another ’68, this one with a true four-speed manual transmission and clutch, and a factory sunroof to boot:

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The seller was friendly enough, but seemed unconcerned about the barely perceptible level of oil on the dipstick and the slack in the fanbelt.   Both,  fatal flaws in an air-cooled vehicle.

Again, a car that would need an inspection tear-down of the engine and a re-build to be useful as a daily driver.

The others he found, some as far away as Chicago, fell into two categories:  1)  Running; solid and twice his price limit; and:  2)  Running;  rusty and priced ‘right’.

He even called on one just over his price range which was basically a running; driving chassis; fully rebuilt and needing only a body:

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Further research on an old ‘kit car’ body or a decent old Beetle with rotten floors rapidly removed this interesting possibility from his price range.

Frustration mounting, his ardor for a manual transmission even prompted a visit to some local dealerships for something new.  The folly and illogic of assuming another  monthly ‘note’ seemed, in his fevered state, to be a small price to pay for fulfilling his need for a clutch pedal.

He visited a Kia showroom.  The Forte Koup was in his payment range, but there were no stick-shifts in stock, and the salesman did not exhibit an inclination to locate one without a signature and a deposit.  This visit was brief.

Around the corner, he pulled into a Hyundai dealership.  The salesman here was friendly.  In fact, he too was an air-cooled VW enthusiast.  Stefan took him up on his offer to take a 6-speed Veloster for a drive down the highway.  The quirky three-door design was appealing; and the payment range was the same as the Kia.  The drive was exhilarating, but he knew in his cheap Ukrainian heart that could be just as “quirky” in a vintage car, which he could maintain himself without a degree in electronics.  An older car would also afford him a spare tire.  (Neither the Hyundai nor the Kia has a spare).

Back to the ethernet.  A perusing of   Hemmings Motor News, again with a radius of 500 miles, yielded no satisfactory VW’s.  He cursed the trendiness and ‘cachet’ that seemed to drive the prices of the the Beetles.  ‘Plan B’ was forming in his mind.  He edited the search menu to include his favorite domestic car of all time, of which he had owned four:  The American Motors Rambler.  He noted that the only one within negotiating distance of his price range and driving distance of his home was a pretty ’62 Classic Custom:

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Like his other Ramblers, it was a stick-shift, in-line six cylinder, practical car that could be driven daily in all weather, and would appreciate in value during his ownership.  An e-mail and a phone call to the seller convinced him that the car was worth the 360 mile trip to drive and inspect it.

His fever heightened.  He would drive out at the end of the week during the first of his two days off.  As that day approached, he did the research; reacquainting himself with the old wiring schematics in his automotive library and even compiling comparative data to establish empirically the soundness of  his selection to himself  and to his skeptical spouse:

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The boldface entries in the chart above made his decision simple.  Data doesn’t lie, regardless of  how high the fever one may be suffering.  In fact, suffering over time results in endurance,  endurance produces character, and character produces hope.

Hope did not disappoint Stefan.  Within hours of compiling the comparison chart above, the phone rang.  Someone was coming to look at Max .  Within an hour, he had charged its’ battery and inflated the  flat tire.

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Within two hours, it was gone.

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It would go to a good home, that of a Camaro enthusiast who had his own business, selling body parts and restoration services for Z-28’s and Firebirds.

Stefan smiled as he listened to the happy buyer describe how he would fix it up for his wife…..who just had to have an ‘automatic’.

Hope does not disappoint us..

***(coming soon…..Part Two:  “The Test Drive“)***

 

Walking in Pain and Empathy on Good Friday

As my faith has richened with Bible study and reflection on the sermons of my Pastor and the commentary on scripture I have written devotionals on, it has struck me that Good Friday is indeed the most important and meaningful Holy day of  the year.

It is symbolic, for me, of the essential tenet of Christian faith, i.e., Grace.  God gave his only Son for our salvation, and in doing so saved us from the devil and forgave us our sins.  There has been no greater gift to mankind in the history of the world, when you stop and ponder the sheer magnitude of our sinfulness.

This is reflected in, and symbolized by, the horrific and excruciating physical torture; rending; lashing and defilement of He Who is God made flesh.

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( ) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Observe that:

–Depictions of Christ’s Passion can never be “over the top” when one considers the depths of man’s depravity toward fellow men; the folly of greed; pride and coveting, and the wallowing of our society in the shallow seas of materialism.  Small wonder that his suffering and death were so visceral and cruel.

–The physical suffering and the rending of flesh were warranted by the fact that Jesus was a man, however sinless.  The flesh in us can only truly cringe if we note that Christ, like us, was flesh and blood.

–That His suffering of scorn and ridicule was emblematic of the message God was moved to convey:  As the Son of God; he could easily have responded to deriding exhortations to “save yourself, if you are the Son of God”.  That he did not, and, instead, suffered both the torment of his fellow man and His forsaking by his father, is eloquent in depicting his acceptance of his mission to die for us rather than to prove Himself as being something other than us.

–He was “us”.  He cried out “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”  As a man, even Jesus, due to his flesh and his heart and his brain, cried out for some solace; some sign that his Father could help him or come to His aid in this blackest of hours.  Indeed, His sacrifice, depicted in gruesome and gory detail, was “Good” for us.

It is fitting that Good Friday is, like Easter, assigned no date certain on modern calendars.  So momentous an occasion cannot be fixed on any mortally-invented calendar.  It rather is simply the ‘Friday before Easter’.  The joy of Easter and the celebration and exaltation of  his rising again to join His Father is enhanced and made more meaningful by its’ contrast to the blackness of the events on that blessed Friday.

For what is happiness unless one has first experienced sorrow?

That last question leads me to pose others:

–How can we purport to abide by Gods’ command to love one another unless we first experience their pain and sorrow?

–Should not our love of God be all the more intense and visceral when the pain; anguish and death of his only Son resulted in the tearing asunder of the temple veil which had, at long last, ended the separation between man and God?

–How can we ask the forbearance of others of our weaknesses and limitations unless we empathize with theirs?

Mortality is fleeting.  As such, suffering; sadness and pain, though inherent in the human lot, are also fleeting..  Whatever your answers to the questions above; strive to acknowledge Gods’ Grace by sharing it.  It can only be shared.  Let the Holy Spirit in your heart reach out and share your pain with others and let you see that your pain, and theirs, are but darknesses preceding the Light.

English: Resurrection of Christ

English: Resurrection of Christ (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

 

 

 

Rejoice that Jesus lives in every heart, and suffers with us every day, so that we can one day know that the ‘veils’ we perceive are of our own making, not Gods‘.

 

 

 

 

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One Step in the Walk to the Essence of Faith

As I called the cats to their daily treats, I noted the one who did not respond, and confess that I am now convinced of the essential basis for faith; salvation and Grace during this Holy season.

It is, simply, God saying to his children, essentially this:

“Chump don’t want no treats? Chump don’t get no treats!”

Celebrate the Walk of Jesus this season by assessing the direction of the walk you take through life.

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god (Photo credit: the|G|™)

Don’t be a ‘chump’.   Don’t make Jesus do all the walking.

‘Treats’ abound in Heaven.  The walk you take to its’ glory is yours, and yours alone….

 

Walking on Serpents: Psalm 91 and the Price of the Promise

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It is rather simple for skeptics of faith to play the ‘devils’ advocate’ when referring to Psalm 91.  The promises listed therein seem to make faith in God a “cure-all” for any possible malady; affliction or problem we could ever encounter.

It is these skeptics who can often wryly, even sneeringly, point to some natural disaster or chronic illness which befalls a person of faith and say:  “Won’t your “God” protect you?.  How is it He could have let this happen to you?”.

I am reminded of a lyric from a song by a British group, named (ironically, in this context), The Rolling Stones:

“I was driving home early Sunday morning through Bakersfield
Listening to gospel music on the colored radio station
And the preacher said, “You know you always have the
Lord by your side”
And I was so pleased to be informed of this, that I ran Twenty red lights in his honor….
Thank you Jesus, thank you Lord.”

The cynics and skeptics, these “devils’ advocates” demonstrate perfectly the mindset of Satan, when in the wilderness, he tempted Jesus to throw himself into an abyss, chiding him that any fear of the result would be contrary to the promises of Psalm 91. (Matthew 4:6)   But Jesus spurned his coaxings.  He would not throw himself into the abyss.heavenhellsign

And neither should we put God ‘to the test’ by “running twenty red lights”.

Why not?

Simply because, the promises God makes are to those who make their habitation with Him (v. 9), not those who would doubt Him or ‘test’ Him.  These, and their homes, shall no evil befall.  (v.10).   Habitation with the Lord will have the benefit of angels to lift us up so that we will not fall. (v.11; 12).

The angels will regard us, their charges, as children.  They will help us if we trip on the stones of sin or temptation.  They will gird us as we trample the Devil, whether manifested as a lion, or a serpent.  (v. 13)

If we know God by name; if we fix upon Him our love exclusively (v. 14); and, most importantly, if we call out to Him in a constant dialogue of prayer in times of trouble, He will deliver us.  He will be with us.  And He will answer our prayers.  (v.15)  Our lives will be long, however divided they may be between the ‘here and now’ and the ‘hereafter’.  We will know his salvation (v. 16) not by earning it; and certainly not by testing it;, but…. by acknowledging the essential fact of Grace:  The Passion of Christ…the denial to Jesus of protecting angels; of deliverance; of comfort; of protection from harm….  was Gods’ gift to those who would take refuge from their sinfulness in His habitation, and love Him in return for His proven love for us.  The promises of Psalm 91 are the reason Jesus went to the cross, and his resurrection was victory over sin; death and Satan.

Just as Jesus resisted the temptation of the serpent Satan, we must resist the temptations  posed upon us everyday by the lions of greed; fear; envy and pride.  And if we dwell in Love with God, and with one another, we can,…..and we will.

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Walking ‘Heart to Heart’: The Nature of Judgement (Romans 2: 12-16)

Romans 2: 12-16

Jesus lives in every heart.

He lives in the heart of the poet; the craftsman; the servant and, even the criminal.

That it is harder to find Jesus in the arid clay of a criminals’ heart than it is to find him in the softer loam of a poets’ heart in no way negates the fact that Jesus is in residence there.  Jesus is the ‘Nature Boy’ ‘who lives in each of us.  He is the soul of our conscience, the essence of our morality.

 

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Gentiles, who “do not have the (Mosaic) law” either acknowledge the Grace of God when they do “by nature” the things required by the law, or repudiate this Grace by judging others and being stubbornly unrepentant of their own shortcomings as sinners.  Jews, in the same manner, either abide by the the laws communicated by Moses, or repudiate them out of pride or other sinful acts.


Thus, the law and its’ final judgement is universal, and does not differ according to ones’ identity as a Jew or a Gentile.  Whether written on tablets of stone, or “written in their hearts”, adherence to basic precepts of loving God and loving our neighbors as fellow sinners will result in favor with God on the day of judgement.

That day is coming.  It is crucial that we understand the ‘nature ‘of this judgement.

God, though impartial, will not be wearing a blindfold on that day.  

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He will not be holding a balance scale aloft in his upraised arm.  He will not be weighing sins.  He will not be judging the extent to which those sins are counterbalanced by “good works”.  After all….we are all sinners to begin with.

He will simply look into the heart of each of us.  He will “judge the secrets of human hearts”.  If these ‘secrets’ demonstrate that our “conflicting thoughts” have resulted in remorse or shame for our transgressions, this remorse and shame will “defend” us.

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 If, however,  our “conflicting thoughts” are those of pride, envy or of deeming our transgressions as somehow justified by a sense of entitlement due to rank, or even of ‘good works’, this pride will “accuse” us.

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Thus, the source of our salvation will not be the amount; the gravity; or even the depravity of our sins.  The source of our salvation will be our acknowledgement of Jesus in our hearts and of our sense of morality.  That we regret our lives, however sinful, shows our understanding not of ‘morals’, (for morals may differ), but of a“morality” which must have come from  an ultimate law-giver, and which could not have come from genetics; education; chance; or even evolution.

That we all have a visceral sense of what we ‘ought’ or ‘ought not’ to have done with our lives is, to me, the ultimate and incontrovertible proof that God exists;  that his Son lives in us; and that the Holy Spirit is His ‘spark’ in all of us.

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Walking To the ‘Barack Candy Mountain’

The election over, a page has turned.

As I have opined previously, a major crossroad has been encountered.  The partisan battle for control of the rudder of the ship of State has resulted in a hard turn to ‘port’.  This nautical ‘left turn’ is frightening  to half of us, and cause for celebration  to the half who were able to veer the ship to the left of the fiscal iceberg which loomed ominously ahead.

Perhaps it will not matter which direction we veered to avert the fiscal disaster before us.  After all, any (hopefully) school child knows that the greater part of any iceberg looms low and wide beneath the surface.  It may be that the inane bickering in Congress and on the airwaves has kept us from realizing that we have long since passed the point, some nautical miles behind us, where prudent diversion of course either way would have kept us from the danger that looms below.  If this is the case, a ruptured keel will soon doom us all, regardless of whether it is torn asunder on the  port-side  or starboard.

If it is not the case, though, and we steam on, unscathed, to a sunset on an uncertain horizon, it is obvious that things will be different in latitudes closer to Greece than they would have been in a veer to starboard, where the latitudes are closer to Lake Woebegone.

The direction has been chosen, though, and it is clear that the momentum of the administrative and bureaucratic tonnage that groans beneath us will change our cultural sensibilities for decades to come.

As I was driving home two days after the election from my menial position as a cashier at a gas-station/convenience store, I noticed not one, but three well-illuminated billboards within a span of about twelve miles, advertising ‘1-800’ phone numbers to call for quick and trusty service for those who have :   “Had your disability claim denied?  We can help get you what you deserve”.  My mind flashed back to sit-downs with insurance clients who were exercising their disability riders on life insurance policies so that the premiums would be paid by the company.  Filling out their paperwork, it was mandatory to ask for the nature of the disability.  In every case I experienced, the ‘disability’ was not physical, or even really mental.  Matter-of-factly, I was informed by the policy holder that “work is just pressure I cannot handle”.     The Doctors’ name and number were dutifully noted, and the forms were sent in.  I never received notice that any of these claims were denied.

The dozen or so patrons I meet daily who use EBT/food stamp cards over the last year have never bought a gallon of milk; a loaf of bread; or even lunch meat.  The purchases are predominately sodas; juices; potato chip products; candy bars; ice cream and, of course; slurpees.

Two Slurpees in a car cupholder.

Two Slurpees in a car cupholder. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I’m no judge here, don’t get me wrong.  I cannot help but notice, however, that these products, regardless of what can be said about their nutritional or caloric values, are in fact the products we vend which have the highest profit per unit.  (Ours is not to wonder why; ours is just to bag the pie).

Someone should make Michelle Obama hip to this.                                                   

On this same drive home, fretting about the maxing out of my hours  at twenty-nine since the election due to the Obama-care mandate, I happened upon a sound clip on the radio of Dennis Miller,  who now has his own conservative talk-radio show, (and who is, in my estimation, much more tolerable now that he has left sports commentating.)  His reaction to the election was not one of  bitterness; vitriol; or vindictiveness, but, rather one of resignation.   He noted that a guy with a family these days who makes a little over $50,000 a year can make about the same by going on the public dole.  Indeed, I know many at work who purposely cap their hours to less than twenty per week so as not to limit their eligibility for the free healthcare; food stamps; and income supplements they get by NOT working.  There are many small businesses today which cannot find needed help because they cannot match what ‘Big Brother’ pays them to be idle.

Once you latch onto an “Obama phone”; it is apparently difficult to give up those 4 or 5 hundred free minutes per month.

A switch of the radio station resulted in hearing an old “hobo” song from the twenties and thirties:  “The Big Rock-Candy Mountain”.  As I listened to its’ lyric describing the reverie of a perfect world from the point of view of  a hobo, I could not help but think of the similarity of that dream to what is unfolding today.

I’ve modified the lyric……the tune can be heard by clicking on the link below:

“The Barack Big Rock Candy Mountain”
(originally by Haywire Mac, 1928)

 

 

One evening as the polls shut down

And the pundits’ bile was churning,

Down the street came a vagrant hiking,

And he said, “Folks, I’m not turning

I’m headed for a land that’s far away

Besides the crystal fountains

So come with me, we’ll go and see

The Barack Candy Mountain”

 

“On the Barack Candy Mountain,

There’s a land that’s fair and bright,

Where the handouts grow on bushes

And you sleep warm every night.

Where the Swisher Sweets are plenty

And the sun shines every day

And the birds and the bees

And the cigarette trees

And the Red Bull springs

Where the bluebird sings

On the Barack Candy Mountain.”

 

“In the Barack Candy Mountains

The Obama phones are ‘smart’

And the TVs all are HD flat

And Republicans have hearts

Convenience stores are full of booze

Your Lotto picks win every day

Oh I’m bound to go

Where there ain’t no snow

Where the rain don’t fall

The winds don’t blow

In the Barack Candy Mountain.”

 

“In the Barack Candy Mountain,

All the churches give to you

And the little streams of Rolling Rock

Come trickling down so cool

The police have to tip their hats

And the store clerks all are blind

There’s a lake of brew

And of Slurpees too

You can paddle all around it

In a big canoe

In the Barack Candy Mountain.” 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“In the Barack Candy Mountain,

Networks all are CNN

And there’ll be more reality shows,

In slots where Fox has been.

You stay on ‘disability’,

And your checks come EFT

I’m bound to stay

Where you sleep all day,

Where they hung the jerk

That invented work

In the Barack Candy Mountain.”

“On the Barack Candy Mountain

All the ballots are absentee

And the only lines to stand in

Are for RedBox DVD’s

On this mountain have no fear

Of Tea Parties or of work

To us it’s owed

A tattooed bar-code

small price to pay

To not have to pray

On the Barack Candy Mountain.”

 

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