From Jezebel to Phoenix

I cannot remember when I first fell in love with driving.  It was not love at first drive.  Momma taught me to drive in a 1950 Plymouth Deluxe.  It was a flathead six cylinder with three-speed on the column manual transmission.  I can still remember hopping out of the drive on to the highway.  I had had practice driving our Farmall Cub in the field and it was much easier than the Plymouth.  For instance, when changing gears on the tractor it stopped and the cutch was different, as was the shift.  The Plymouth was still moving and going from first to second on the column, known as “three on a tree,” took more coordination than the tractor.  Pushing the clutch, shifting up, and releasing were complicated for a twelve-year-old.  Yes, I was twelve and momma was hollering because I was trying to go into reverse rather than in second.  I was puzzled how reverse and second were in the same place.  There were not on the tractor.

Dad gave me the old Plymouth when I was fourteen.  He had junked it as his work car.  He said that if I wanted a car, I could fix up the Plymouth.  I did.  I bought several old junk Plymouths, back when for five to ten dollars, for spare parts including engines, transmissions, mirrors, door handles, rims, and tires.  Most of the time people gave away the cars to get them out of their yards.  I remember visiting trash piles in hope of recovering a good used fifteen-inch tire.  Way things are inflating, no pun intended, I may have return to the garbage dumps to find tires.

I spent the whole summer working to earn money to get a new paint job on the Plymouth.  By this time, I had named her Jezebel, because she was so unfaithful and ornery.  I went to the parts store, that’s what we call ‘em up home, and bought the paint and a neighbor, who was learning to paint cars, did the body and fender repair and painted it crystal blue in honor of Tommy James and the Shondells’ hit song Crystal Blue Persuasion.

The next summer I spent my earnings from picking and loading watermelons, cantaloupes, and hauling and throwing hay for blue rolled and pleated interior and carpet.  I had me a hot rod.  It would run eighty miles an hour downhill.  You can only imagine how rough and safe a ride I had with tires from junkers that were not balanced.  I know that the tubes had multiple patches, which threw the tires more out of balance.

I started driving the Plymouth to football practice before I had a driver’s license.  It was a step better than all the walking, which I had done from the seventh grade until I started driving.  The sheriff told daddy that it was okay, but be very careful.  After I got my license, I drove carelessly.  To this day, my brother-in-law tells folks that God must have had a plan for me later in life because there is no way that I should have lived with all the reckless driving I did.

I guess that is why I am writing this article.  I did a lot of reckless driving and lived to tell it.  I was returning to Linden from Demopolis on US Highway 43.  I was running the speed limit with the cruise control, which undoubtedly was too slow for folks headed south.  Two cars behind me this lady thinks she is at Talladega Raceway because she is drafting the car behind me and makes her move to pass.  I never saw the checkered flag.  I did see the yellow line, which means no passing, it quickly becomes two yellow lines as she gets beside me, and there is a car headed north and directly toward her.  I have to slow for her to return to the proper lane.

The car behind me says if she can, I can.  He starts around me on a hill, two yellow lines, and a truck flying to Demopolis directly in his path.  Once again, I slow to prevent a wreck.  They had better be glad I was not in my hot rod Plymouth.  I would have been very slow for them.

I do not think people realize the risk they are taking behind the wheel.  I have been hit by a teenage boy in flying Trans Am, passing three cars, with two yellow lines on the road, and on a hill.  I am glad my brother-in-law was a prophet.  Had God been through with me I would have been killed.  I have some ailments today because of that wreck thirty-two years ago.  It is unsettling when people pass when there is no room for passing.  Many lives have been altered and many killed by idiotic drivers who drive recklessly.  All of us need to slow down, drive safely, and be considerate.

When I was hot rodding, folks would quote the Bible and call me Jehu.  I know some that called me a Yahoo.  Both would be true.  I saw two Yahoos on Hwy 43.

. . . And the driving is like the driving of Jehu the son of Nimshi; for he driveth furiously (II Kings 9:20b KJV).

Tongue and cheek humor: I always felt that I was doing good owning Hondas, the choice of Jesus and the early disciples and that God drove a Plymouth Fury and owned a Pontiac Tempest and Geo Storm.  See what you think.  Check out John 12:49, Acts 2:1, Jeremiah 32:37, Ezekiel 13:13, and Psalm 83:15 in the King James Version.

 

In 2012, I started rebuilding the 1950 Plymouth.  My daughter had the volunteer fire department pull the Plymouth from the basement of our burning home before the remains of the house fell on it.

The old Plymouth now has a dependable 5.7 Hemi, a Mustang rear end, automatic transmission, four-wheel disc brakes, power windows, air-condition, synthetic leather bucket seats, Porsche Meteor Grey paint, modern stereo system, and chrome rims with store bought tires.  Since her transformation from the fire Jezebel is now named Phoenix.

 

What a Waste

Trash dumps amaze me.  They break my heart.  When I worked at the University of Montevallo, I had to make frequent trips to the dump for the carpentry shop.  On one occasion, I noticed hundreds of old black and white photographs of a time long forgotten.  You could tell this from the clothes, hairstyles, buildings, and cars it was the 1930’s.  I wondered why these pictures were discarded.  Who were these people?  Were the pictures stolen?  It was such a waste of someone’s time, talent, and money.  It makes me think how our world is a trash dump of people.

Garbologists say America is a wasteful nation.  Garbology is the study of garbage.  It is a great source of information about a society.  What a society discards reveals who they are.  It shows how they live and how they are living.  The conclusion is Americans are spendthrifts. 

Take a trip to the dump and look at what you find.  Garbage is an expensive problem.  People tend to waste more in bad times than in good times according to garbologists. 

What about our lives?  How many people do you know who live wasted lives?  Every day, more and more people realize that they have done little in life.  Others exist in a living hell, suffer torments, and die to suffer for an eternity.

Jesus used a garbage dump when describing hell.  In the Greek, the word for hell is Gehenna.  It was the place of polluted filth, dead carcasses of animals, dead bodies of criminals, and constant fires.  The fire destroyed the smell and the refuse.  The fire always burned creating a never-ending process.  Gehenna was the place where Moloch made human sacrifices.  Gehenna was a picture of hell and its ugliness.  Jesus told His disciples to fear God’s judgment in hell, which is the eternal Gehenna.

The judgment of God extends beyond death.  Believers find confidence in God while sinners fine confinement in the eternal Gehenna. 

Gehenna is a figurative picture of the wastefulness of a precious life.  It is tragic ending for neglecting the love of God.  People can discard many things, but a wasted life is paramount.  Hell is a monument to those who do not love God.  We need to get a burden for lost people.

One morning after sleeping a couple of hours off a midnight shift, Sharon woke me.  I thought I was dreaming.  In this dream, she was shaking me to tell me our neighbor’s house was on fire.  The neighbor’s house was on fire and it was not a dream.  Fortunately, no one was home.  About the time I got to the house, another neighbor was there with a small kitchen fire extinguisher.  As he reached for the door, I cautioned him.  I felt the door and it was extremely hot.  I knew from safety training at work this was a bad sign.  I said if you open the door, the flames would engulf us.  I had not finished the sentence when windows on the front of the house exploded and immediately the house went down in flames.  In less than thirty minutes, the house was a pile of ashes that smoldered for a couple of days.

The family lost some valuable substance, but the most precious substance saved untouched by the fire was their lives.  I pray that our churches learn the value of recycling lives.  The change of the disciples after Resurrection Sunday reminds us of the transforming power of God. Many people discarded by the world find hope and encouragement in God and His people.  Look around at the waste of talent, time, and money.  Let us live transformed lives.

And I say unto you my friends, Be not afraid of them that kill the body, and after that have no more that they can do.  But I will forewarn you whom ye shall fear: Fear him, which after he hath killed hath power to cast into hell; yea, I say unto you, Fear him (Luke 12:4-5).