Melody doesn’t feel like praising the Lord today. She’s seething.
She drives her used 1964 Plymouth Valiant up to the community hall just before church is scheduled to begin. Six people crawl over the seats, and our backs, and exit from two doors. It’s just Melody and me left sitting in the front bench seat listening to a sputtering 8 track tape player pumpin’ out praise music.
“Why is it my car that gets used and abused every Sunday? Why can’t somebody else drive?!” She hit’s the steering wheel, which rattles the dashboard, which causes the glove box door to fall open and papers of all shapes and sizes to spill on to the floor and around our feet. This doesn’t help.
For the last month or two Melody has been the bus driver during this little revival that has filled up her car with young people. She’s driven her brother, sister, best friend, college buddies, and me, three in the front, sometimes 4 to 5 in the back seat, to church camp, Christian concerts, prayer meetings, bible studies, and Sunday school and church services.
What holy fun we’ve had, traveling over the mountains, forests, and small towns of Northern California, laughing, teasing, praying, singing, and enjoying Jesus together. No one’s worried about gas prices. The little car goes a long way on 24 cents a gallon of premium fuel. And Melody always buys the gas. And Melody always drives. And sometimes Melody buys us all lunch. And Melody always seems to be happy to do it. Melody never complains.
We should all be thinking, “Gosh she must love us all to do this for us!” But we are teens and young adults. Gratefulness is something we might learn later in life. Instead we tease her when she’s on time and we are late. We get mad and complain when we have to sit under someone or have to sit on someone’s boney knees. We beg for air when its cold outside but sweltering inside because of all the bodies piled on top of us. Like I said one day we’ll learn to be thankful, but today is Melody’s day.
She throws darts at me with her eyes as I pick up papers and jam them back in to the glove box. “Oh, look!” I tease her. “Each of these little papers has a Bible verse on them. It’s your brains spread all over the floor!”
I look up at her, hoping for a smile. Of course she doesn’t smile, just throws larger darts. So I pick up all the papers one at a time and put them in their little box.
“There,” I tell her while shoving the container back in to the glove box. “All better!” The door falls open several more times, and I keep slamming it until finally I just hold it closed with my knee, smile again, and shrug my shoulders.
But I spot one more little paper rectangle, there’s always one more, attached to the bottom of her shoe. I pluck it off and hand it to her.
“Just put it in the box!” she demands.
“Well maybe I should read it first. Couldn’t hurt, right?
“Put in the box!”
Well, I read it anyway.
“2 Corinthians 9:7. “Every man according as he purposeth in his heart, so let him give; not grudgingly, or of necessity; for God loveth a cheerful giver.” 2 Corinthians 9:7.(KJV) ”
It’s like all the steam seething behind her beautiful young face exits her ears at once. Her cheeks get red and a large tear races down to her chin. Melody grabs my hand and says softly, “Let’s go to church. We’re late.”
Can’t say how many young people we transported over the year the revival tarried. When the revival fires became embers we gave the Plymouth away, bought an even smaller car, and continued to learn how to be cheerful givers.
hehe Reading about all the bodies piled into the car reminded me of teen mission trips to Mexico. We'd stuff all of us into the church van, sitting on laps and the pastor would speed around corners and hit bumps intentionally to throw us around a little. :)I liked that you had her learn her lesson through her own Bible verse she had written down. Thanks for taking the mini-challange to write this!