It is finished.

Our Fiat has gone home to be with the Lord.

The salvage guys are coming to pick it up next week.

Our faithful chariot since 2016, a little Italian mouse we named Lucia, it saw 125,000 miles of New York, New Jersey, and New England adventures. It went to Pennsylvania. Had we asked, it might have gone to Transylvania. Thankfully, we did not ask.

It was a Go Kart, a clown car that never seemed like it would comfortably house full sized people. It inspired sly roasts from young black guys and intrigued questions from old white men.

It was a parking miracle and a mileage dream.

It was the Little Engine that Could…until it became The Little Engine that Couldn’t.

We expected this. Our long season of car shopping has culminated in an acquisition. We found a car we like and a dealership I’d recommend to anybody. In a coming post, I’ll tell you all about it.

The original plan, though, was to drive the Fiat to Vermont to trade it in and seal the deal. Lori and I were on board. The dealership was on board.

The Fiat did not get the memo.

So when I went to start it one morning, it said, “no thank you.”

I thought it was a dead battery and used my portable jump-starter.

No charge.

I called AAA, in case it needed something more.

No charge.

I started feeling like I was part of a bad Shirley Caesar remix.

If AAA comes and determines your battery is shot, they’ll install a new one and sell it to you. If it doesn’t work, they take their battery and call you a different truck.

They tried that.

No charge.

By now, in my head, Shirley Caesar has gotten to “there’s no charge, son.”

The AAA guy said “you need a new starter.”

Replacing those costs around $500.

That’s not a starter; it’s a finisher.

So I changed plans, and ended up riding a few more trains, and driving a few more rental cars. This interlude may have contributed to my getting Covid, but that’s another story.

I also abandoned my daydream of keeping Lucia around for sentimental reasons.

Sometimes you just need to let go.

And when you do, you discover that it’s not necessarily the end.

I rejoice today, that my paradigm is one of resurrection, of life that emerges from death.

We call Good Friday good, because we understand the the Crucifixion as the necessary precursor to the Resurrection.

The most devastating, unjust, horrific loss led to the ultimate triumph. This is the miracle that defines my faith.

It’s also the event that shapes my perspective.

Nothing terrible happened here.

My drive to Vermont got restructured.

Our time with the new car we have the favor to lease got delayed.

And, yes, my trade-in took a notable hit, transitioning instantly from possibilities to parts.

If that’s the worst of it, I rejoice.

I rejoice that the alternator didn’t die on the highway in the middle of the night. That happened with my sister’s Nissan Altima in Indiana when we were driving it from Vermont to Seattle in the ‘90s.

I rejoice that it didn’t break down for good in the middle of a New York City intersection. That happened with my Volvo 240 in Spanish Harlem in 2006.

I rejoice that the engine didn’t seize up on a highway on the way to a class. That happened with my Toyota Camry in 2012.

This was just a car that didn’t start. And some plans that had to be changed.

I can grumble about it, or I can thank God for safe travel and better options.

In this season I’m counting my blessings.

I’m staying mindful and grateful for each headache that could’ve been a disaster.

And I pray the same for you today.

I pray you find perspective in your inconveniences.

I pray you find joy amidst both favor and failure.

I pray you don’t sweat the small stuff, and it all works out in the end.

May you survive this adventure and arrive at your destination ready for the next one.

Travelling mercies.

See you on the road.