By Joe Mazzella
When I was a young man I had a love-hate relationship with my car. I loved that I had a vehicle that could get me where I needed to go, but I hated just about everything else about it. First it was over 20 years old. It was the size of a tank and got about the same gas milage as one. It would sputter when I accelerated and backfire when I turned the engine off. It leaked and burned oil. The old tires blew out on more than one occasion. The radio tuned in mostly static and I only had one cassette tape to play in the player. The windshield wipers didn’t work at all and I sometimes had to pull over in a heavy rain. My co-workers even teased me that they saw buzzards circling my car in the parking lot.
The only one who hated my car more than me was my Dad. He was a mechanic and kept the car going for years longer than it should have lasted. As soon as he fixed one thing, however, something else would break down. I could hear him swearing every time he had to work on it. Still, this old, rusty piece of junk was all I could afford at the time so I kept driving it praying it would hang on for one more day. Then finally one morning I turned it on, put it in gear, and the transmission fell out of it. That was the end of my old car and I was happy to see it go.
These days I hate to admit that I am starting to have the same feelings about my own body. I feel like a young soul driving an aging clunker around. My back hurts daily. My teeth, eyesight, memory, and energy aren’t as good as they used to be. I am doing my best to eat right, exercise, and get enough sleep just to slow down the decay. But each day it gets a little older.
Yet, in the end I know these bodies we drive around aren’t who we really are. We are the spirit within. We are beloved Children of God put here to live, learn, and love. And when our car does finally break down for good, we will be happy to let it go and return Home again.
