A Heart Like A Truck

"Not that I am speaking of being in need, for I have learned in whatever situation I am to be content. I know how to be brought low, and I know how to abound. In any and every circumstance, I have learned the secret of facing plenty of hunger, abundance and need. I can do all things through Him who strengthens me." Phil. 4:11-13 ESV version   

We have seen both hunger and plenty. After 9/11 (not sure if it has anything to do with this, but it seemed like a very volatile time and was certainly a crumbly economy in reaction)... Ken lost his job of 22 years. Up til then, we had been blessed with dependable income and amazing benefits. It's amazing how you take such things for granted when you're young. We were not rich, had no savings and lived from paycheck to paycheck. Our only debt was our modest home, our plain and simple vehicles were bought with cash and much wrangling. Four active, always-hungry kids and a mortgage.  

Ken needed a vehicle with good gas mileage and my uncle's tiny brown truck came available.  Ken was so grateful and the price was right. I sometimes wondered how his massive shoulders were able to squeeze into that thing, but they did. It had no air conditioning, manual transmission and was as humble a truck God ever let anyone make. He drove the wheels off of it and kept it spit-shined and oiled-up. I remember the day that it perished...we were living in a camper on our land and had begun framing our house (ourselves, mind you) when he came rolling down the long driveway. I heard a couple of ka-pows! as the baby truck gave up the ghost. Black smoke was pouring from the exhaust and Ken was barely able to pull it to the side of the gravel. I was dying inside because a new car or truck was the last thing we needed to have to buy, seeing as we were limping along with building our house while stuffing four large children and ourselves into a camper each night. But that scene of the smoke billowing and the sounds emanating from the expired truck made something snap in me. I began to laugh, then howl, as he stepped out. I said, "Just roll it on over to the house and we'll use it as backfill!" Somewhere in there, I knew it was going to be okay but on paper it made no sense.

We've had a succession of transportation types since that day...  ancient trucks, vans, a well-worn station wagon, and several things that were rescued from the landfill. One particular season, when the downturn of 2008 like-to-have killed us, Ken had a company truck that broke down after the company went defunct and we were left with the payment and the burgeoning insurance. We were flat-broke, but fellows at church and some kind deacons worked to get it running just long enough for us to sell it. Meanwhile, my trusty Ford Explorer (that had 220,000 miles on it and ticking nicely) was wrecked by an uninsured driver. We limped for seven months, borrowing Daddy's truck, until the insurance finally paid out. Eventually, our dear elder, Bubba, gave Ken his son's old beater car...a Ford Fiesta...not the sedan, the really, extremely tiny version. Again, my husband had the heart of a saint -- humble, excited, thankful. If I thought that original mini-truck was small, this one had him folding himself into a puzzle before he could get into it. He eventually gave that little thing to a friend, when we were able to get something else. But he has that date marked on our yearly calender -- the day that Bubba gave him that car. Makes me weep every time it comes around.

Many years have gone by now. We were able to sell our dream home and get out of debt. The economy relaxed, the kids got married and started their own stories. I sold a home and secretly bought him an older red truck for his birthday (one that he didn't have to fold himself into). We put a big bow on it and had it sitting in the driveway. That one eventually had to be sold and he was able to buy another (older) red truck. This one was bigger and uglier and had a funky smell. I didn't like it, but he was his typical self -- thankful, loyal, steady. 

Then we started camping with our old but new-to-us camper. On our first mountain trip, his truck strained on the hills and finally broke down along the way. When we finally got home, Jon (our eldest son) and I started conspiring. Ken used to despise the idea of camping but had really, finally bought into it. I'd send Jon different trucks and he'd send me trucks on FB Marketplace. We took a secret trip to Alabama, foraging for a larger truck that we could afford. Ken knew nothing of these goings-on, but I realllllly wanted to bless him, after all his years of putting on his boots and steadily being the humble, grateful heart of our home. 

I saw a used, pretty, white Ford F250 on FB while we were headed home from Alabama. I didn't look closely, just forwarded it on to Jon. By morning, he had made his way to the dealership and called me: "Mom!!! This is it! It's a cream-puff, beautiful and so well-taken-care of." Jon knows cars (trucks too) and I trusted him implicitly and wired the funds. Jon invited Ken to their house; we drove there together as Jon pulled in behind us with the thing. I thought we were buying a truck. This was some sort of Man-Beast, with all the bells and whistles. Ken didn't know what hit him. He was confused about what that massive thing was doing behind us.

As the realization hit and the little boy part of him saw an old dream coming true, he was speechless with tears and hands on his face. Everywhere we go now, he has to say (as he is smiling like a Cheshire cat): "I didn't buy this truck! I wouldn't have bought a truck this fancy. My son and wife did this behind my back!" It hauls that old camper like a champ, and he keeps it spit-shined and oiled-up, just like all the others he has taken care of all these years, even if they were ready for the landfill. I really like that about him...