Engine Grease and Eternity

My Dad has a really cool car. I know it’s cool for a few different reasons; first, whenever I tell my guy friends what kind of car he drives, they do the classic, chin tilt, wide-eyed, “Niiice!” followed by questions about RPMs or pistons or the exhaust fumes or something I don’t completely understand. Next, I know because it has a special spot in the garage, and it never goes out in the rain. Finally, I know it’s cool because men stare whenever we ride around town. And although I’d like to think they are looking at the way-cute daughter in the front seat, I know that their honks and waves are directed at the manicured tires and flawless racing stripes. Oh well, can’t win them all, I suppose.

   My Dad has put so much work into restoring his ’67 Shelby Cobra (Yes, men, this is when you can ooh and ah.) I’ve been thinking about my Dad’s car a lot the past few days because of the sermon our pastor gave on Sunday. He was preaching about spiritual “restoration,” a word that most of us don’t truly understand (at least, I know I didn’t.) I looked it up in the dictionary and it means “to return something to its original owner, place or condition.”  

   The thing about restoration is, it doesn’t come easy. Just ask my Dad. He and his friend, Mike, spent hours upon hours making that Mustang shimmer. When they started working on it, it didn’t have a floor, it was missing parts and it had been sitting behind someone’s shed for a few years covered in weeds and cobwebs. But my Dad and Mike, they saw potential in that old car. They were willing to put in the time and effort to make it something beautiful again, returning it to its original condition (or maybe even a little better.)

   I think that God looks at us the same way. He sees our rusted wheels and rotting seat cushions and scratched paint. He sees the bad choices we’ve made and the scars we’ve acquired and the times we’ve done our own thing instead of His. But He chooses to see past those things. Instead, when He looks at us, He sees incredible promise. He offers the gift of restoration for anyone who chooses to accept it.

   Another thing my pastor pointed out was that most of us don’t like change. He’s right. Sometimes I hate it. But you can’t be truly restored if you aren’t willing to be changed. Healing requires you to remove yourself from the weeds and allow yourself to be sanded, twisted, and molded. And that can be painful. Usually I just want God to give me a quick fix, to restore me completely, without breaking me of the things that are wrong in my life. But that’s not how it works. Restoration is difficult. In fact, real life change is impossible on your own. Hear that. You can’t fix yourself. Thankfully, we have a Master Mechanic who is willing to get his hands dirty and take a look under our hoods. He can make us beautiful again. No repair is too big or too small for Him, and that is something worth squealing your tires about.