The "Car"istian Contentment

I have never attempted to trade in a car when purchasing a new one, mostly because the only reason I ever need another car is that my current car has just endured a lingering, unpleasant death and rigor mortis has set in. There is not a big trade-in market for vehicles that appear to have been stricken with vehicular black plague.

I believe in extracting every last ounce of heart, soul and rust from my cars. After they have been driven for well over a decade, with slipping transmissions and a host of other distressing maladies, my cars eventually realize that there is no end in sight and, utterly bereft of hope, they choose to commit automotive hara-kiri.

One of the reasons I keep my cars so long is that, in addition to being cheap, I loathe the experience of buying a car. I hate dickering, and buying a car is one of the very few retail purchases for which bartering, bickering and even fisticuffs are expected and accepted.

It is because of this combination of cheapness and fear that I have often ended up with atrocious cars that just sort of became available, often via a friend or relative who was getting rid of a car.

That’s exactly how I once ended up purchasing a 1977 AMC Pacer, which was voted “Ugliest Car of the Year” by a major automotive magazine. For those of you too young to remember the truly hideous cars that Detroit inflicted on America 30 years ago, the AMC Pacer looked like an enormous metal toad, and it handled with the speed and precision of a rabid armadillo.

A few months ago I was about to commence a reluctant search for yet another car when my wife, Dale, asked me, “Dave, what car would you really like to have? Let’s just say you could buy a car you actually want to drive — what would that car be?”

Before my cheapness neurons could kick in, my wild-at-heart gene seized control of my tongue and I uttered the name of a truly cool car that Chrysler recently released. I could barely believe I actually said it out loud.

I expected my wife to burst into unbridled fits of laughter, but Dale replied, “I think you should get one.”

I don’t think I could have been more stunned had she told me I should purchase Jamaica and declare myself emperor. If we need lightbulbs and they are not on sale, my wife will seriously consider rendering deceased farm animals and making candles out of the tallow.

“You can’t be serious,” I said.

But she was.

“Dave, you have had a series of cars you didn’t really like. I would like you to have a nice one. Besides, driving is a big part of your job, and you are reimbursed for all those job-related miles. So a lot of the cost will already be covered. But I also really want you to enjoy your trips.”

“But I could get something cheaper and smaller …,” I protested.

“And less protective in an accident,” she interrupted.

“But …”

“I think you are worth it,” she said.

So I have a new car. Sort of. We bought a newly used one so my cheapness DNA would not cause my spleen to have seizures every time I drove.

The Bible talks about learning to be content whether you are “abased or abounding.” I have been abased a lot over the years. It is kind of fun to abound. But whether I drive a cool car or a clunker, my identity is not defined by my car. It is defined by the fact that I am a child of God. And in that sense, we can all abound.