Remembering the Joys of the Journey Rather Than the Pit Stops
My minivan has seen better days. We bought it nine years ago in pristine condition with low miles. Noticing my husband’s meticulous attention to detail, the private seller expressed gratefulness that it was going to a new owner who would take great care of it as he had. Clearly, he had not met the rest of the family.
We tried to hide our children as inconspicuously as possible during the title transfer. We knew with one look at our four young and energetic kids, he would foresee a less promising future for the van.
Our family affectionately refers to this vehicle as “the Tank.” It has taken us on countless road trips to see family, friends, and other destinations across our country.
It has transported kids to and from muddy hikes, wet swims, and stinky sports practices. It has housed backpacks, lunch boxes, musical instruments, stray Cheetos, and empty Chick-fil-a waffle fry holders. It has carried items for thrift store runs and tailgates, and served as a privacy screen for pee breaks along the interstate when bladders could not wait any longer.
It carries dogs who throw up in it, shake their wet fur in it, and lick the cup holders clean from all the food that gets left behind.
It has survived multiple battles with garage doors, other vehicles, mailboxes, flying rocks, and a goose that once flew into the windshield on a busy highway.
It currently boasts a broken air conditioner and busted side mirror. While it is covered in battle scars (and my oldest claims he gets carsick just looking at it), the Tank continues to get our crew from point A to point B. And to me, it represents the people and pets that have been transported within its worn painted sides and faded interior – and the memories made with them.
I’m choosing to focus on the beautifully imperfect people and experiences along my voyage, and not the dents I accumulated on the way.
It makes me wonder why I’m so hard on myself when I don’t have the same body I had starting out. Or the same memory. Or the same energy level. My external scars represent children born and years of adventures with my people. And my internal scars, many formed by pain and trauma, represent living beyond my own strength and vision while clinging to the One who has held me securely through them all.
When God promised Israel he would be their healer in Exodus 15:26, he used a Hebrew word meaning “to mend by stitching.” Stitches leave scars, and scars are reminders – but we can choose our focus when reminded. The pain, or the people we shared it with. The junk our hearts have endured, or the journey we got to experience along the way.
I love what the dilapidated tow truck Mater tells Holley in Cars 3 when she plans to smooth out his imperfections:
“No, thank you. I don’t get them dents buffed, pulled, filled, or painted by nobody. They way too valuable. I come by each one of ‘em with my best friend, Lightening McQueen. I don’t fix these. I wanna remember these dents forever.”
Today I’m giving myself grace for being a little less fit, a little less refined, and a lot less perfect. I’m choosing to focus on the beautifully imperfect people and experiences along my voyage, and not the dents I accumulated on the way.
And I’m meditating on what God says in 2 Corinthians 12:9-10:
“My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is perfected in weakness.”
Shelley,
I love this so much. We, too, had “a tank.” Lots of trips to swim team, coop, field trips, and, finally, college. One daughter swore she’d never drive it (then asked if she could buy it five years later when she was expecting her first child). So many memories and so many adventures. Thank you for the reminder that the same is true about ourselves. Lifetimes take their toll on our outward selves, but our inward selves grow more beautiful every day. Lord, may our inward beauty shine so brightly that it eclipses our physical imperfections — for your glory.
🙌🏻 Amen.