Worried about global warming? I am also, but I’m more worried about why people are asking the wrong questions and seeking for the wrong answers. Literature is out there where people decades back predicted the impact we were having on our ecosystem. Just thirty or so years ago I remember hearing about hairsprays and spray deodorants doing something to the ozone layers. So obviously we’ve walked around with blind folders and ear plugs, ignoring the warnings of educated men.
Did I say we were warned decades ago? What about millennia ago? The book of Revelation was written by an elderly man, with no expertise in science, on a deserted prison island who predicted things like changes in the stars such as meteorites landing in rivers and oceans, and a sun gone awol, as in the collapse of a supernova. I remember in science class, when I was just thirteen, hearing about our sun’s future and worrying about my descendants dying, millions of years from now when our sun exploded! Do you think the astrologists back in 100 A.D knew we wouldn’t have a sun someday? The apostle John did and he didn’t get his information from the local newspapers. But his good news was it would be replaced by the presence of God and we wouldn’t be walking in darkness anymore.
With the oceans swelling due to melted ice water from the poles, millions of people will be displaced; crowded infrastructures won’t be able to handle the influx. Our cities are built around concrete that attracts heat, increases carbon dioxide emissions, reduces walking paths,(which affects our health, and encourages usage of ecosystem unfriendly cars) and prevents rain water from being reabsorbed into the earth as runoff, causing even more flooding and destruction. Famine and pestilence have figured heavily in our past as well as our future, no arguing with that, so it’s easy to miss the connection with world events and the gospels if you want to remain ignorant of the truth. The truth is that global warming is really a global “warning” sent to us by God as he keeps us informed of his plans for our eternal outlook.
The question is not how are we going to prevent global warming, but can we read the signs of the times? Why aren’t people seeing a connection between biblical prophecy and current events? Is it too farfetched to see the similarities in the book of revelation and what’s happening today? To recognize that our solar system is spreading out as scientist have discovered? Yes, I believe in the big bang theory, the solar system is moving outwards, expanding, causing changes on our earth that have been predicted for our warning. God didn’t want us to be ignorant. But some of us are. We walk around with blinders thinking we can reverse what God set in motion through his prophesies. Oh, I’m not against being a good steward of our recourses but I’m not convinced anything we do now can prevent the unpreventable, the dawning of a new heaven and earth wherein dwelleth righteousness and is illuminated by the glory of God.
Isaiah 48:3-5
Rev 8:7-11
Rev 16:8-9
Rev. 21:23
Summary
There is a bigger problem than global warming. The problem is in the failure to realize the real cause of today’s events. The only solution is following the lord and resting in his promices.
Saturday, May 17, 2008
the doctor's prediction
My dad is eighty two and has been around the block more than once. Ever since I’ve known him, almost fifty two years now, (so you can assume I knew him before I was born by about twenty years!) he’s been at death’s door, cheating it with fervor. Well, truthfully, since I was nineteen I’ve been aware of his mortality. I recall going to bed concerned he wouldn’t see me finish college after having spent the day with him in ICU after a heart attack. Added to that was my fear I’d have to care for my mother who had never been on her own. She didn’t even know how to write checks! I’m grateful I didn’t develop ulcers from all the futile worrying.
Well, nineteen from fifty two is thirty three years of growing, adjusting, living in faith. Leaving things in God’s masterful hands. My mother in fact died first, at a young sixty six of breast cancer, surprising us all, as her health, we thought, was better than dad’s whose always been on the wobbly side of the coin. I truly feared dad would terminate himself on her death bed. I’d never heard a wail so horrifying when he witnessed her taking her last breath on this earth. I braced myself to be his buttress careful to not let him grieve himself to death, placing my anguish down good and deep.
But I digress, so back to dad. First were his heart issues that he inherited from a father who died at forty nine, then came head and neck cancer which yielded a perpetual feeding tube, congestive heart failure, then prostate difficulties, a broken shoulder, hip, hands, falling spells, from ignoring my nagging about using his walker! But he has miraculously trekked on; God in his infinite wisdom knows I’m not ready to let him go yet. I’m not prepared to be an orphan, not till I’m at least sixty.
Over time as his health concerns mounted I’ve slipped into the role of his principal caregiver, with minimal reliable help from anyone else. It has not been a hardship, but a privilege to repay him for years of fatherly love and care. I’ve kept abreast of current health trends and kept dad on the cutting edge of my learned wisdom. When his congestive heart failure was at its worst I had him hospitalized, treated with diuretics and improved. (at one point the doctor told me if dad continued his downward decline he’s been gone in six months) Through trial and error I discovered that his interests were best served by keeping him dehydrated and exercised. His primary physician and I have worked as a team to enhance dad’s condition so well congestive heart failure is spoken of in the past tense now, and we raised his ejection fraction (an important heart function) to just below normal, up from just above about dead!
So when I missed dad’s last appointment with his cardiologist (check out the word, last!) I was stunned to find dad at the elevators, puffing on his oxygen canulla and pushing his walker, ready to go home on the verge of tears, with the news that he was only given two to three years left to live due to leaky valves(heart structures). We knew he had this problem for years, and we had agreed surgery would not be wise with his other conditions, i.e., lung issues, feeding tube, and inability to lie flat for any procedure, to name a few. But to tell someone in his eighties that he only could look forward to just a scant three years at the most…well I was so infuriated I marched back into the office and demanded of the receptionist to see Dr. Arrogant. Dad came up behind me and tried to stop me, but I brusquely (with the utmost reverence) told him to go sit down, I would take care of this.
Dad tried twice to get me to listen to him, and finally succeeded when he said, “But I didn’t see Dr. Arrogant, I saw someone else.”
With egg on my face I turned to the surprised nurse and pointedly asked, “All right, I want to talk to the doctor who he saw!” pointing my fingers at dad.
“Is there a problem?” she queried. What fantastic observational skills.
I was tempted to respond with, ”No, I just want to see how he’s doing today,” but instead I verbalized, “Yes, there’s a problem!”
“Well, he’s with a patient right now,”
“I don’t care, get him!” Maybe I was sparing some other patient from getting upsetting news.
We were ushered (swiftly) into a private hallway, presumably to prevent panic from erupting in the waiting room, where a young resident extended his hands to me as though this was going to be a cordial get together. To avoid any miscommunication I requested that this young kid, with the confetti from his high school graduation still clinging to his hair, tell me exactly what he told my dad. From the tone of my voice and a long relationship with my temper, dad decided to abscond and let the doctor work out his own survival system.
“Well, he has some leaky valves and I informed him at his age and with his problems he could only expect another two to three years, but I assured him he could beat the odds.”
Enough said, I thought, and launched into the past thirty plus years of health issues, and overcoming odds.Startng with most people with head and neck cancer and feeding tubes rarely live seventeen years extra and ending with, “He’s 82, he doesn’t expect to live forever, he knows he could die tonight, I know that, I’m 52, I could die tonight, but you’re going to die now!” I scanned the area for security cameras after the words slipped past my filter system and floated on the air between us.
Keeping his composure, I’m guessing from confronting lots of angry family members, made outraged from his inexperienced theory on informing the patients of their prognosis’s, he politely explained, “I feel that patients have a right to know what to expect.”
“Well I feel that only God can make those expectations. At eighty two, three years is a life time, and for him it’s three years you robbed of the joy of living!” With that I turned my back and departed, sure that I made no impact on Dr. Inappropriate but feeling the carthartic release of venting.
What followed was days of encouraging dad to look at all the other mis-information people have received, starting with his boyhood friend who had been told he was beyond help and was given a forty ninth wedding anniversary party by his kids because they didn’t expect him to make another year. That was what? Eight years ago. Who was wrong about that? The doctor of course. There was a long list of soothing stories but dad wallowed in self pity none the less. I even revealed to dad that all the doctors I work with contended that Dr. Inappropriate had over stepped his credentials.
It’s taken some time but now dad no longer tells everyone he meets he's dying soon, but I’m not sure how often it encroaches in his thoughts. I have been counter fighting a slowly encroaching inactivity on his part. It's like he's given up and realizes the fight is almost over, This is referred to as a self fulfulling prophesy. The point of this? Doctor’s, no one for that matter, can tell us when we are going to die. Of course there is a certain predictability with some health issues, that is the reason Hospice provides a useful service, but even they miss the mark occasionally, carrying patients for longer than the six month duration, even removing some from their rosters because of failure to die! Let’s not lose hope. Only God knows when he'll call home, and that life expectancy is a lot longer than two to three years.
Duet. 32:39
Eccl. 9:11
James 4:13-14
summary
we rely on doctors for so much, but sometimes they tend to overstep thier wisdom. Doctors are given their wisdom from God but they need a touch of common sense. See how one doctor changed the life of a man and what the consequense were.
Well, nineteen from fifty two is thirty three years of growing, adjusting, living in faith. Leaving things in God’s masterful hands. My mother in fact died first, at a young sixty six of breast cancer, surprising us all, as her health, we thought, was better than dad’s whose always been on the wobbly side of the coin. I truly feared dad would terminate himself on her death bed. I’d never heard a wail so horrifying when he witnessed her taking her last breath on this earth. I braced myself to be his buttress careful to not let him grieve himself to death, placing my anguish down good and deep.
But I digress, so back to dad. First were his heart issues that he inherited from a father who died at forty nine, then came head and neck cancer which yielded a perpetual feeding tube, congestive heart failure, then prostate difficulties, a broken shoulder, hip, hands, falling spells, from ignoring my nagging about using his walker! But he has miraculously trekked on; God in his infinite wisdom knows I’m not ready to let him go yet. I’m not prepared to be an orphan, not till I’m at least sixty.
Over time as his health concerns mounted I’ve slipped into the role of his principal caregiver, with minimal reliable help from anyone else. It has not been a hardship, but a privilege to repay him for years of fatherly love and care. I’ve kept abreast of current health trends and kept dad on the cutting edge of my learned wisdom. When his congestive heart failure was at its worst I had him hospitalized, treated with diuretics and improved. (at one point the doctor told me if dad continued his downward decline he’s been gone in six months) Through trial and error I discovered that his interests were best served by keeping him dehydrated and exercised. His primary physician and I have worked as a team to enhance dad’s condition so well congestive heart failure is spoken of in the past tense now, and we raised his ejection fraction (an important heart function) to just below normal, up from just above about dead!
So when I missed dad’s last appointment with his cardiologist (check out the word, last!) I was stunned to find dad at the elevators, puffing on his oxygen canulla and pushing his walker, ready to go home on the verge of tears, with the news that he was only given two to three years left to live due to leaky valves(heart structures). We knew he had this problem for years, and we had agreed surgery would not be wise with his other conditions, i.e., lung issues, feeding tube, and inability to lie flat for any procedure, to name a few. But to tell someone in his eighties that he only could look forward to just a scant three years at the most…well I was so infuriated I marched back into the office and demanded of the receptionist to see Dr. Arrogant. Dad came up behind me and tried to stop me, but I brusquely (with the utmost reverence) told him to go sit down, I would take care of this.
Dad tried twice to get me to listen to him, and finally succeeded when he said, “But I didn’t see Dr. Arrogant, I saw someone else.”
With egg on my face I turned to the surprised nurse and pointedly asked, “All right, I want to talk to the doctor who he saw!” pointing my fingers at dad.
“Is there a problem?” she queried. What fantastic observational skills.
I was tempted to respond with, ”No, I just want to see how he’s doing today,” but instead I verbalized, “Yes, there’s a problem!”
“Well, he’s with a patient right now,”
“I don’t care, get him!” Maybe I was sparing some other patient from getting upsetting news.
We were ushered (swiftly) into a private hallway, presumably to prevent panic from erupting in the waiting room, where a young resident extended his hands to me as though this was going to be a cordial get together. To avoid any miscommunication I requested that this young kid, with the confetti from his high school graduation still clinging to his hair, tell me exactly what he told my dad. From the tone of my voice and a long relationship with my temper, dad decided to abscond and let the doctor work out his own survival system.
“Well, he has some leaky valves and I informed him at his age and with his problems he could only expect another two to three years, but I assured him he could beat the odds.”
Enough said, I thought, and launched into the past thirty plus years of health issues, and overcoming odds.Startng with most people with head and neck cancer and feeding tubes rarely live seventeen years extra and ending with, “He’s 82, he doesn’t expect to live forever, he knows he could die tonight, I know that, I’m 52, I could die tonight, but you’re going to die now!” I scanned the area for security cameras after the words slipped past my filter system and floated on the air between us.
Keeping his composure, I’m guessing from confronting lots of angry family members, made outraged from his inexperienced theory on informing the patients of their prognosis’s, he politely explained, “I feel that patients have a right to know what to expect.”
“Well I feel that only God can make those expectations. At eighty two, three years is a life time, and for him it’s three years you robbed of the joy of living!” With that I turned my back and departed, sure that I made no impact on Dr. Inappropriate but feeling the carthartic release of venting.
What followed was days of encouraging dad to look at all the other mis-information people have received, starting with his boyhood friend who had been told he was beyond help and was given a forty ninth wedding anniversary party by his kids because they didn’t expect him to make another year. That was what? Eight years ago. Who was wrong about that? The doctor of course. There was a long list of soothing stories but dad wallowed in self pity none the less. I even revealed to dad that all the doctors I work with contended that Dr. Inappropriate had over stepped his credentials.
It’s taken some time but now dad no longer tells everyone he meets he's dying soon, but I’m not sure how often it encroaches in his thoughts. I have been counter fighting a slowly encroaching inactivity on his part. It's like he's given up and realizes the fight is almost over, This is referred to as a self fulfulling prophesy. The point of this? Doctor’s, no one for that matter, can tell us when we are going to die. Of course there is a certain predictability with some health issues, that is the reason Hospice provides a useful service, but even they miss the mark occasionally, carrying patients for longer than the six month duration, even removing some from their rosters because of failure to die! Let’s not lose hope. Only God knows when he'll call home, and that life expectancy is a lot longer than two to three years.
Duet. 32:39
Eccl. 9:11
James 4:13-14
summary
we rely on doctors for so much, but sometimes they tend to overstep thier wisdom. Doctors are given their wisdom from God but they need a touch of common sense. See how one doctor changed the life of a man and what the consequense were.
don't ignore china
I couldn’t help myself. I clicked on one picture after another. Rubble. Tears. Bodies. Children. Old, young. Civilian, soldiers. It was mesmerizing. It was depressing. Other people I knew refused to look at the pictures, the hopelessness of the situation made them too despondent. Why let something continents away affect their daily lives?
Here were pictures of women holding, no clutching, each other, trying to find the strength to take another breath in the light of their devastation. They lost husbands, parents, children. No, they lost a child. With the one child policy survivors had no sisters, brothers, aunts or uncles to turn to. Parents lost their only children, grandparents lost their only grandchild. Eighty year olds lost their child, grandchild and husbands or wives.
Pictures enlightened me on the nation I never knew. They had houses just like us, they had hospitals, just like us. They had roads, apartments, washing machines, school, cars, bikes. They dressed like us; jeans, t-shirts, nightgowns, jackets, tennis shoes, helmets. They sent their kids to school, just like us, expecting to see them again at the end of the day coming up the drive way with their empty lunch boxes and homework, tired expressions on their faces, ready to unwind with a snack. But that wouldn’t be anymore, after seven thousand schools were smashed from possibly shoddy construction, leaving colorful backpacks, lunch kits with animated pictures and student I.D’s scattered in the wreckage.
The pictures were grisly. Here was a picture of a child buried under cement. Trapped under cement. The picture just showed her face (a face that is seared in my memory) as workers cut off her left leg to release her. Here was a boy lying in a hospital bed, minus his arms, with his mother beside him. I wonder what she was thinking. Was she grateful her son was still alive? Or horrified at the life he would now lead? Would he rise above his circumstances and be a winner or would he fall prey to endless self pity and despondency.
There were some soldiers and other survivors holding people back from the bodies of their relatives. Why? Would falling on the bodies make the sorrow any worse? Would it not yield closure? How much more dramatic would it be to fling yourself on your dead husband, wife, child as opposed to being held back? What is the purpose in that? They all suffered loss, why care about someone else’s reaction? They cared for each other, just like we do.
There were several pictures of survivors, bandaged up, using homemade crutches and stretchers, getting ready for a nine hour walk to make-shift shelters. Evacuating in a hurry to avoid being flooded by the risk of collapsing dams, more drama, and more destruction. Leaving everything behind, not on purpose but because where was it? Buried under mudslides and rubble. Destroyed. These were people lucky enough to be carrying kids, holding hands of wives, parents. Going to a shelter for what? Would there be supplies aplenty for them? Water, food, clothing, protection from the elements?
There were pictures of the military digging, masks over their faces to minimize the stench and prevent the spread of disease from decomposing bodies. Rescue work isn’t pleasant, but it has it rewards, like finding a pregnant woman and her mother still alive! Shouts went up everywhere as they were extricated and sent to the hospital. Life would go on. Then the return to reality, digging for more survivors, victims. Who really were the lucky ones? The people that died right away, that wouldn’t have to try to cope, hunt for food, and beg for water? Wouldn’t have to wait for help; look for family they would never see again lying in body bags? Grieve?
The military sees its share of the unpleasant but will these rescuers suffer post traumatic distress syndrome? The rescuers at the World Trade Centers did. It’s hard to cope with so much death all in one place, finding bodies, burying bodies in mass graves, burning bodies on pyres. I know the survivors will go through years of mental anguish, loneliness. Hopelessness.
Hopeless. What can I do to give hope? I can send some money for supplies so the refugees can have food when they get to shelters. Food, water, medical supplies, tents cost money. Rebuilding a country takes money.
I got on the phone after hours of picture viewing and praying. Of getting to know the faces of survivors and seeing their torment. Of seeing how much like me they were. People with emotions and needs hit by something beyond their control, something done at random, unpredictable. The groaning of the earth. We have had our fights with nature also. Tornadoes, hurricanes, volcanoes, earthquakes, lightening strikes burning up the country side, and that’s just the damage from nature! It would be fantastic to know that humanity, no matter what their religion or culture, would pull together on this ship called earth and support each other.
I got on the internet and found the American Red Cross, where I made a donation that they would send to the Red Cross Society of China.( China has a red cross? That’s the beginning of optimism). Considering the enormity of the problem what I sent was trifling, an insult really. But it would buy more than “nothing” would. Then I called my friends and suggested they do the same, the little “nothing” they could contribute would build up to more supplies. More than “nothing” would yield.
Hopeless. What else could I do? Pray. After I took action and sent funds, prayer was next on my list, or was it first? Did the quiet praying I did as I viewed the pictures inspire me to send donations? I would pray for hours, days and years. Pray for the surivors. Pray for us. But for the grace of God, there go we.
Here were pictures of women holding, no clutching, each other, trying to find the strength to take another breath in the light of their devastation. They lost husbands, parents, children. No, they lost a child. With the one child policy survivors had no sisters, brothers, aunts or uncles to turn to. Parents lost their only children, grandparents lost their only grandchild. Eighty year olds lost their child, grandchild and husbands or wives.
Pictures enlightened me on the nation I never knew. They had houses just like us, they had hospitals, just like us. They had roads, apartments, washing machines, school, cars, bikes. They dressed like us; jeans, t-shirts, nightgowns, jackets, tennis shoes, helmets. They sent their kids to school, just like us, expecting to see them again at the end of the day coming up the drive way with their empty lunch boxes and homework, tired expressions on their faces, ready to unwind with a snack. But that wouldn’t be anymore, after seven thousand schools were smashed from possibly shoddy construction, leaving colorful backpacks, lunch kits with animated pictures and student I.D’s scattered in the wreckage.
The pictures were grisly. Here was a picture of a child buried under cement. Trapped under cement. The picture just showed her face (a face that is seared in my memory) as workers cut off her left leg to release her. Here was a boy lying in a hospital bed, minus his arms, with his mother beside him. I wonder what she was thinking. Was she grateful her son was still alive? Or horrified at the life he would now lead? Would he rise above his circumstances and be a winner or would he fall prey to endless self pity and despondency.
There were some soldiers and other survivors holding people back from the bodies of their relatives. Why? Would falling on the bodies make the sorrow any worse? Would it not yield closure? How much more dramatic would it be to fling yourself on your dead husband, wife, child as opposed to being held back? What is the purpose in that? They all suffered loss, why care about someone else’s reaction? They cared for each other, just like we do.
There were several pictures of survivors, bandaged up, using homemade crutches and stretchers, getting ready for a nine hour walk to make-shift shelters. Evacuating in a hurry to avoid being flooded by the risk of collapsing dams, more drama, and more destruction. Leaving everything behind, not on purpose but because where was it? Buried under mudslides and rubble. Destroyed. These were people lucky enough to be carrying kids, holding hands of wives, parents. Going to a shelter for what? Would there be supplies aplenty for them? Water, food, clothing, protection from the elements?
There were pictures of the military digging, masks over their faces to minimize the stench and prevent the spread of disease from decomposing bodies. Rescue work isn’t pleasant, but it has it rewards, like finding a pregnant woman and her mother still alive! Shouts went up everywhere as they were extricated and sent to the hospital. Life would go on. Then the return to reality, digging for more survivors, victims. Who really were the lucky ones? The people that died right away, that wouldn’t have to try to cope, hunt for food, and beg for water? Wouldn’t have to wait for help; look for family they would never see again lying in body bags? Grieve?
The military sees its share of the unpleasant but will these rescuers suffer post traumatic distress syndrome? The rescuers at the World Trade Centers did. It’s hard to cope with so much death all in one place, finding bodies, burying bodies in mass graves, burning bodies on pyres. I know the survivors will go through years of mental anguish, loneliness. Hopelessness.
Hopeless. What can I do to give hope? I can send some money for supplies so the refugees can have food when they get to shelters. Food, water, medical supplies, tents cost money. Rebuilding a country takes money.
I got on the phone after hours of picture viewing and praying. Of getting to know the faces of survivors and seeing their torment. Of seeing how much like me they were. People with emotions and needs hit by something beyond their control, something done at random, unpredictable. The groaning of the earth. We have had our fights with nature also. Tornadoes, hurricanes, volcanoes, earthquakes, lightening strikes burning up the country side, and that’s just the damage from nature! It would be fantastic to know that humanity, no matter what their religion or culture, would pull together on this ship called earth and support each other.
I got on the internet and found the American Red Cross, where I made a donation that they would send to the Red Cross Society of China.( China has a red cross? That’s the beginning of optimism). Considering the enormity of the problem what I sent was trifling, an insult really. But it would buy more than “nothing” would. Then I called my friends and suggested they do the same, the little “nothing” they could contribute would build up to more supplies. More than “nothing” would yield.
Hopeless. What else could I do? Pray. After I took action and sent funds, prayer was next on my list, or was it first? Did the quiet praying I did as I viewed the pictures inspire me to send donations? I would pray for hours, days and years. Pray for the surivors. Pray for us. But for the grace of God, there go we.
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
car shopping
For a year and a half now I've been without car payments after five years of monthly regular installments; so, of course things are going to go wrong now. Three week-ends in a row I've had my PT Cruiser in the shop for overheating, being forced to drive my mother in law's car about town and to work, making me feel needy. Thank God I at least had that option. The weekly mystery was, why was my PT overheating. After 2500 dollars and two months we got the problem fixed but not without leaving me insecure. Having had a dependable vehicle for seven years it was hard to have perfect trust in something that was now unreliable.
Then I got into my car one afternoon and glanced at the gas gauge on my way to the store. Oops, down to empty. That couldn't be right, after all it was just slightly above that before I parked. Then I noticed the speedometer and every other gauge was on zero. Great, another trip to the mechanics and this time I was encouraged to go to the dealer. Some recall affected the circuit that ran the dashboard lights and gadgets and therefore this repair would be cost free! Yea. But while I was at the dealers......why not investigate a new purchase? After all I had time while my car was being doctored.
Meanwhile, I have been diligently reducing my bills, having paid off five credit cards, saving me fifty to a hundred dollars a piece monthly and my house mortgage no longer exited after twenty five years. (No, I 'm not going to tell you how old I am but I was very, very, young when I bought the house!). This meant a monthly cash reserve of five hundred dollars or so.
Oh, the cars I drooled over! It is so hard to concentrate on one vehicle when you have a complete car lot to browse through. The new car looks, colors smells, gadgets. They really had hooks that get under your skin and reel you in. I couldn't imagine driving out of the dealership in my seven year old car, with the floorboards needing vacuuming and the car seats stained from my doggies. And all the junk in the trunk. I had the salesman run some figures by me and was surprised at how affordable a 2008 car would be, especially since all the afore mentioned riches were now at my disposal.
There was no pressure on me to purchase a car right away, but there was a good sales pitch. The salesman knew how to schmoose. He was ready to let me drive a new Jeep Patriot, Jeep Compass or Pt Cruiser off the lot to run my errands in and show my husband while my car was being worked on. Thank heavens I'm not a impulse buyer. I have actually been considering a new car for some time, while in the back of my brain (on a dusty ledge) a thought tugged at my desire to own one car for at least 100,000 miles. My past history with autos ended every seven years, which is where I'm at now. As I sat in each prospective purchase I envisioned myself to be content with it for years. If I could just own "this one car" I'd be content with it for the rest of my life. I was informed of the life time warranty on the transmission and power gadgets under the hood. When I skeptically asked for whose life time I was told for as long as I owned the car, up to and not limited to twenty years. Now I was impressed. I might actually stand a chance of a life time ownership. But I had thought my last car would be my last car! My baby. I had planned on being buried in my PT Cruiser and now I'm considering dumping her because of what probably amounted to my negligence in powder puff mechanics or a national recall.
Then I realized what I had been struck with....The lust of the eyes. The new car look. The new car smell. The new car colors. The clean spotless interiors. The new car warranties. I would be spending thousand of dollars over the next five years on a car to awe people, myself at the top of the list, without giving this one final repair a chance. And in seven more years I'd be just as tired of the looks and make of any car I got today. In seven more years there would be newer and shinier cars with more glitter that I would be tempted to trade a 2008 model in for.
That would be like God saying, okay, you've disappointed me four times now I think I'll throw you in the trash heap and get a new nation. Oh, wait, didn't that happen once? God doesn't get lustful when he sees a new nation develop. He doesn't get tired of us when we malfunction, He doesn't loathe us for the dirt on us or the junk in our hearts. He repairs, washes and vacuums us, and is ready to pick us up again and again and again.......While we are being overhauled he's not out looking for replacements; He waits for us to get steady and go back to serving him.
Oh, the things we can learn while waiting in a service department while our cars get fixed.
Then I got into my car one afternoon and glanced at the gas gauge on my way to the store. Oops, down to empty. That couldn't be right, after all it was just slightly above that before I parked. Then I noticed the speedometer and every other gauge was on zero. Great, another trip to the mechanics and this time I was encouraged to go to the dealer. Some recall affected the circuit that ran the dashboard lights and gadgets and therefore this repair would be cost free! Yea. But while I was at the dealers......why not investigate a new purchase? After all I had time while my car was being doctored.
Meanwhile, I have been diligently reducing my bills, having paid off five credit cards, saving me fifty to a hundred dollars a piece monthly and my house mortgage no longer exited after twenty five years. (No, I 'm not going to tell you how old I am but I was very, very, young when I bought the house!). This meant a monthly cash reserve of five hundred dollars or so.
Oh, the cars I drooled over! It is so hard to concentrate on one vehicle when you have a complete car lot to browse through. The new car looks, colors smells, gadgets. They really had hooks that get under your skin and reel you in. I couldn't imagine driving out of the dealership in my seven year old car, with the floorboards needing vacuuming and the car seats stained from my doggies. And all the junk in the trunk. I had the salesman run some figures by me and was surprised at how affordable a 2008 car would be, especially since all the afore mentioned riches were now at my disposal.
There was no pressure on me to purchase a car right away, but there was a good sales pitch. The salesman knew how to schmoose. He was ready to let me drive a new Jeep Patriot, Jeep Compass or Pt Cruiser off the lot to run my errands in and show my husband while my car was being worked on. Thank heavens I'm not a impulse buyer. I have actually been considering a new car for some time, while in the back of my brain (on a dusty ledge) a thought tugged at my desire to own one car for at least 100,000 miles. My past history with autos ended every seven years, which is where I'm at now. As I sat in each prospective purchase I envisioned myself to be content with it for years. If I could just own "this one car" I'd be content with it for the rest of my life. I was informed of the life time warranty on the transmission and power gadgets under the hood. When I skeptically asked for whose life time I was told for as long as I owned the car, up to and not limited to twenty years. Now I was impressed. I might actually stand a chance of a life time ownership. But I had thought my last car would be my last car! My baby. I had planned on being buried in my PT Cruiser and now I'm considering dumping her because of what probably amounted to my negligence in powder puff mechanics or a national recall.
Then I realized what I had been struck with....The lust of the eyes. The new car look. The new car smell. The new car colors. The clean spotless interiors. The new car warranties. I would be spending thousand of dollars over the next five years on a car to awe people, myself at the top of the list, without giving this one final repair a chance. And in seven more years I'd be just as tired of the looks and make of any car I got today. In seven more years there would be newer and shinier cars with more glitter that I would be tempted to trade a 2008 model in for.
That would be like God saying, okay, you've disappointed me four times now I think I'll throw you in the trash heap and get a new nation. Oh, wait, didn't that happen once? God doesn't get lustful when he sees a new nation develop. He doesn't get tired of us when we malfunction, He doesn't loathe us for the dirt on us or the junk in our hearts. He repairs, washes and vacuums us, and is ready to pick us up again and again and again.......While we are being overhauled he's not out looking for replacements; He waits for us to get steady and go back to serving him.
Oh, the things we can learn while waiting in a service department while our cars get fixed.
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About Me
- collette
- I'm an operating room nurse whose done several different voluneer jobs. I just recently re-enlisted for Hospice volunteering again after a few years off .I took care of my disabled dad for 19 years till he passed on. I have three dogs right now that I love dearly.