Messy Car

I live a messy life. There is no better evidence of this than my 1996 Chevy Corsica. It's not much, but it's paid for and reliable - what more could I ask for (praise the Lord!). But, our car has more wear and tear than a bar stool in an Irish pub on St. Patrick's day. Yeah, that bad. There are two month-old water bottles floating atop of various stains and spills. Apple Jacks are ground into the back seat. A sticky substance graces every handle. Warning, don't ask for a ride.
I desire order, neatness, and cleanliness, but I have so many other priorities that my car is often forgotten. It has been an unsightly sore for me lately. I am quite embarrassed at gas stations and drive-thrus. However, I have found some peace in this thought: my car reflects my humility. I say that in the most humble manner. My car is not an idol. It is not a symbol of social stature. It does not take my time away from more important matters. It does it's job, and we treat it to an oil change every 3,000 miles or so. The Lord knows that I have enough things in my life to be arrogant about, a nice car is not one of them. I am thankful for that, and I have found peace in my messiness. My car is a reflection of who I am: Late model, messy, not flashy, yet able to catch attention due to the mess. I am a messy car.

A Conversation Between a Messy Car and a Clean Car
a poem by Adam Wolfgang

The clean car says, "I am the expectation."
The messy car says, "I am reality."

The clean car says, "I am a necessity."
The messy car says, "I am a privilege."

The clean car says, "I am an obsession."
The messy car says, "I am part of the family."

The clean car says, "I am beautiful."
The messy car says, "I have character."

The clean car says, "I am lonely."
The messy car says, "I am loved."