Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Cars can take on a life of their own. They each have a unique personality. Some name their vehicles with fondness and adoration such as "The Blaze" or "Herbie". Others name their cars by their performance such as "Piece of Junk" and "Clunker".
I didn't name our new 2001 Ford Windstar. God did.
We had just traded in our 1992 Chevy Blazer which had the lingering scent of goat and baseball. Our oldest son, whom we'll refer to as "Special" (a nickname from high-school), had been on a traveling team since '92. One fundraiser we did involved a real goat. The idea was to go to a local business and say, "Business A has sent us to you (Business B) and wants you to babysit this goat. Now we can help you out for a fee of $20 and take this goat to another business of your choice, or you can babysit the goat for 30 minutes and we'll be back to pick him up."
The obvious would happen, so we would load the goat back up in The Blaze along with the $20 cash and head to the next business. Unfortunately, we had a goat with a bellyache. I found it interesting that the principle of gravity didn't apply to his irritable bowel. Although the goat was caged in the back, his "relief" permeated the carpeted area and barely missed our backseat passengers.
Fast forward to November 2001. Special had graduated from high school, and since the days of fund raising were over, The Blaze was traded in for a new Ford Windstar that seated seven. Since we had only two kids, Special at 18 years old with his own car and Sweet Tart (nickname from jhigh) who was just 13, it really didn't make a lot of sense that we would buy a seven passenger van. But 2001 was the year that you could buy a vehicle at 0% interest, so we decided that a big van for our travels and for when we had company would suit us just fine.
As I looked out my living room window that rainy November morning in 2001 and gazed at the beauty of our new van sitting in the driveway, the quietest voice I've ever heard whispered into my heart "The Chariot".
"What," I questioned?
"The Chariot", the voice repeated. "As you have done unto the least of these, so you have done unto ME. You will need this van because I have called your family to adopt orphans. They are royalty because they are MY sons and daughters. The van will be named The Chariot."
The calling to adopt was clear. The blood drained from my face. My toes went numb with fear about what this meant. I began to think of Jonah and wanted to find a whale to swallow me up . . . disobedience to "The Call" was beckoning me. Yet the wonder of what God would do in our obedience enticed me. Obedience would win.