I love old cars.

The lines, the power, the heritage- all things I love about vintage automobiles.  You will often find me glued to the couch on Saturdays watching collector car auctions on television, where my excitement level increases with each bid.

I especially love the stories of cars that sat in barns for decades, only to be meticulously restored to better-than-original condition.  Sure, there’s the same model car that has rarely been driven, with only 18,000 miles or something.  One can appreciate the fact that someone knew that the car may have been worth something one day.  But, I would argue that the car was barely driven, and it spent a lifetime just sitting still.  And besides…

Restoration stories are so much better.

It’s not just the end result of the better-than-new car that appeals, it’s the story of how it got to that point.  Often times the person who restored the car will share on how, when the car was stripped down to the bare metal, major issues reared their ugly heads.  Multiple layers of paint and body filler do a pretty good job of creating something pleasant to look at on the outside, only to be decaying from within.  When those layers are peeled back, the truth of what needs restoration is revealed.

At this point of the post, insert my (and your) life here.

This season of participating in Christ’s death have peeled ripped back many layers in my life. Complacency and sitting still has caused the tires to rot and the battery to die.  Being exposed to the elements have brought about a thick, rusty layer of pride, degrading and decaying anything in its path.  The discovery (on this sort of level this season) has proven to be far from a gentle process.  I’m not sure why I was expecting anything different.  All I need to do is look at Christ.  Look what they did to him.  Why would I expect anything easy? Remember, there’s no story of redemption without depravity. If we have nothing to be restored to, why do you and I need restoration?

So restore away, God.  I don’t want to just sit.  Maybe that would mean less risk, but it would certainly mean less living.  Besides…

I can’t wait to tell others the story.

Every detail.  No omissions.

image: sam