Dimples on My Car

The sound of a fender bender is very unique. Television doesn't do it justice, really. To me, it sounds kind of like a large, styrofoam cup being punched by Lou Ferigno. Or at least, this was the sound my car made when a large F-150 backed into it in the parking lot of a bank. I guess in a very figurative sense, that is kind of what happened. Big truck meets little car and crunch. This is also exactly how I described it to the police officer when he arrived to fill out an accident report, although I don't think he got the pun.

Fender benders are kind of like wedgies - nobody likes them and they won't go away until you deal with them, which you will eventually have to do. The damages to my car were pretty minimal; in fact, it actually gives me a pretty good excuse to fix my fender, a chore I've been meaning to do for a while (albeit at my expense). This does not mean, though, that I wasn't angry. Ask the rookie I'm training to take over my job. She was with me when it happened, first week on the job, and experienced just how vocal I can be at times. I believe the words I first said were:

"YOU &#$*@ #!%@ !"


or something like that.

But what are you going to do? I had no choice but to wait there and pick the wedgie life just gave me.

I sent off my trainee to run an errand down the street. I sat down on the curb, waiting for the police report, while the other driver sat down and whipped out a pack of cigarettes. I thought about asking for one too, although I can barely concentrate the air from a sauna in my lungs without throwing a gagging fit, so I doubted I would handle Marlboros. I had nothing to do, so I prayed, mostly to get my mind off it.

"Pretty bad day, eh God?"

"Well, you didn't lose a friend today, kiddo. And you still have breath in your lungs. Looks like reason to celebrate to me."

And that's all that shut me up. I'm not sure what exactly happened in that moment. Maybe the realization that I know many families who have it much worse today. Maybe I realized that there was nothing I could do to prevent the life wedgie now, so I'd have to pick it. Maybe I just realized that God had a point! And so, that's all that shut me up.

The rest of the procedure went really well. The other driver was really nice and we spent most of the that time laughing and making jokes about how my trainee was being initiated into her new job. I looked at my car that night, thinking about how I saved up to buy it for nearly five years and bought it with my own money. That didn't make me more upset, though. It didn't bother me at all.

In fact, the dent was really actually pretty profound. It looks kind of like a dimple on a smiling cheek. That means something to me because I grew up most of my life with my family always making fun of the dimple on my cheek when I smiled. And in it's own weird, crazy way, it means a lot to me. It reminds me of me.

I am like the car. God is the owner. He buys me used, beaten up, and slightly worn around the edges for a low price of Jesus' death. Not a bad deal, right? But then, I drive off and get in fender benders, marking up my paint job and body work. But somehow, what others see as dents and body damage, God sees as dimples on a fender and he doesn't mind it. It gives the vehicles character. It gives it pizazz. It doesn't de-value the car; to Him, it only increases the value.

So, when life gives you a wedgie, pick it out and remember that God sees you as much more than just a beat up sinner - he sees you as his beat up sinner. And that couldn't make him happier!

KB