"Here in my car..."

As we made the long journey back to Rexburg last week, I saw a junk yard off the freeway. Hundreds of cars lay there, crushed, broken, forgotten.


Each of those cars once belonged to someone. Those cars drove someone to school each day, brought babies home from the hospital, traveled on cross-country road trips. Each one had memories.

I thought of my own beater of a car, the red Escort SE, affectionately referred to as Wagon. I've had some good times in that car. Both Katie and I learned to drive in this car.

This car is the replica (unfortunately) of its predecessor, lost to us in a car accident in 8th grade.

This car rammed the garage door, knocking the house off the foundation when I was learning to navigate the road.

This car was rear-ended whilst a lamo was searching for parking in Idaho and wasn't looking.

This car has been with me countless times as I have rolled down the window, turned up the tunes, and sang along reveling in the happiness to be derived from simple pleasures.

Though my beauty is old, she still maintains her zippiness. Despite all my protestations that she's ugly (which she is...) and old, I lover her and am thankful that I have a car at all. Oh, if cars could talk...