I have always hated my minivan. 

Truly.  From the very first day we bought it until now, four years later, I have loathed it.  I still don't like the guy who sold it to me, even though I freely walked up to him and asked him for it.  I feel like a big idiot driving around in it.  Like I've totally given in to the mommy-vacuum by purchasing it.  And, I hate how I'm more concerned about trash containment of cheerios and oreos than my pre-van concerns of whether or not I would look good in red or black. 

Unfortunately, my van has taken my loathing personally.  In the span of four years, 18 things have broken on it.  From the am/fm switch cracking in half and falling off to much larger issues that have left us stranded on the side of the road.

Our last evil-minivan episode occurred over the holidays when a death in the family led us to leave town the day after Christmas.  We made our way towards Virginia and stopped what seemed like five minutes later for a bathroom break (No.  She didn't go before we left the house).  As we pulled over, smoke began pouring from the engine.  After checking under the hood, my husband quelled our fears, added some fluid and we continued on our trip.

Thirty more miles down the road, it started again.  And the crying began. Our kids were terrified of the smoking car and began a crying opera that rivaled a Pavarotti performance.  My husband checked it again, added fluid and continued on a little less sure of himself. 

"I don't want to die!"

"The car's on fire!" bellowed from the back seat. 

I wanted to join them. Instead, we stopped every thirty minutes adding fluid and waving smoke away as the longest trip in Virginia history was recorded.  We managed to make it to our destination in only twice the time, missing the evening wake.

The next day we dropped the car at a local shop and went on to the funeral.  Hours later we learned that it would be days before the car could be serviced with no idea how to estimate the cost.  Our Christmas gift to our kids was a mini vacation.  It looked as if that would be canceled. More crying ensued.

My husbands family stepped in and generously offered us a car to drive until we could come back to retrieve our own.  After his funeral, we piled into Uncle Delwin's car and headed South. It was a humbling experience driving that car.

Like everything in his life, Uncle Delwin had taken excellent care of his 1992 Lincoln.  After 16 years of use, it was in better shape and was a striking contrast to our minivan of four years.  There were no cup holders, dvd players or automatic lights.  The back seat was large enough for two small children to completely stretch out and fall asleep on.  The backseat also sat incredibly close to the front, making me realize within an hour why parents in the eighties felt the need to use "the arm" as a method of correction.  The trunk was twice as large as the minivan's storage area.  It's seats were worn, and carpet stained.  It had few amenities, yet drove beautifully. 

It made me think a lot about Uncle Delwin and his priorities.  As an aerospace engineer for NASA, he was so unassuming, you would never know that he'd spent his career doing things of which most of us could only dream.  His house contained awards and items of recognition in such inconspicuous places (behind the basement bookshelf), that you would never come to know that he'd been inducted into the Aerospace Hall of Fame, or won awards for developing Hang Glider technology, if someone else had not revealed this information to you.  His priority was his family.  Nothing else mattered.

Though he easily could have lived in a larger house, driven new cars every few years, and spent lavishly on anything he wanted, he didn't.  I began thinking over how hectic our lives had become, the many bad financial decisions we'd made over needless purchases, and why the rest of the world seemed to mimic our steps more than some one more deserving.  Someone like Delwin. 

In the seven hour trip down to Florida, I began to make a new plan for my family.  I wanted to be like Delwin.  I wanted to be more concerned with the big things than the little things.  I wanted to stop being so ungrateful for the things I did have.

Then, it happened.  Fifteen miles from our hotel, the Lincoln died.  As we pulled over to a side road, my kids hit a new level of inconsolable. And I began to join them.  As I sat crying in the passenger seat, watching my husband melt down outside of the car, I looked up into the clouds as the words "Jesus Loves You" formed in airplane writing across the skies.  I kid you not.  That happened.

Hebrews 13:5 says "Keep your lives free from the love of money and be content with what you have, because God has said 'Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you."

I realized in that moment that I had not been content in my life.  Like many others today, I'd spent years chasing after things that truly had little significance.  The reason I'd been so taken aback by Delwin is because he so resembled who I longed to be most like : Jesus.

As it turned out, the repair on the Lincoln was very minor.  Something even the Fedex guy that helped us push it out of traffic was able to diagnose.  However, the redirection I needed would not be as easy.  But, I'm focusing on it.  After years of living without thinking, I'm forming a new plan of how things should be.  And, it's all thanks to Uncle Delwin.  I miss him now more than ever.