Our demon-possessed Buick was headed to the shop for yet another repair, and I was mired in the funk. There is nothing like a breakdown to place the final punctuation on a stressful day. Five-year old Amanda (now 30!) asked to ride with me, and I welcomed her pleasant company. She was in a reflective mood, aware that Dad was not his jovial self. In her attempt to help, Amanda shared a deep insight.
“Dad, I think God is trying to teach you something with this car.”
Really? A 5-year old is going to lecture me on practical religiosity? I caught myself before I snapped out a hateful response. Part of my role as Dad is to teach my children about God and help them develop a faith of their own. Besides, this might be good. I’ll bite.
“Amanda, what do you think God is trying to teach me?”
Other than the clanks, squeaks, and rattles from the Buick, there was silence. I knew from the determined look on Amanda’s face she was running through every piece of data she had on file. She was revisiting 5 full years of life experiences, and comparing all the apples to all the oranges. I was certain there was a big lesson about to be taught, and I waited for the teacher to return to class. She did not disappoint.
Amanda turned to me in complete seriousness. Her conclusion was logical perfection.
“Dad, I think God is teaching you next time you should buy a better car!”