My husband and I have discussed for months what it would take to get our youngest daughter a car.
Morgan is 19 and Melody will be 16 on February 2.
Disclosure: Please do not share this information with my children. They do not read my blog anyway, and this can remain a secret for now. 😉
Due to circumstances from various events in the last three years, we are not in a position to buy Melody a car like we did for Morgan. Plus, Clique got Morgan’s car from his best friend, who is one of the most generous men I know. I’m sure it was a deal.
It has bothered me much more than it should that we could not get Melody a car. In our current society, it seems like a rite of passage that’s expected without question. She could get a job and earn the money like so many of you do, and I agree with this. We do want her to get a job as soon as possible, but I don’t really want to drive her back and forth? 🙇🏽♀️
That’s awful, I know, but I am just so tired most of the time, and in bed by 8pm. My energy level at 42 is seriously jacked up.
Honestly, one of the reasons I wanted her to have a car was for the convenience it would bring to me. After having her older sister here for two years making grocery runs, dropping off Mel at a friend’s house, taking her to and from school and practice – it put me back in the main driver’s seat when she moved to college when I would otherwise like to stay at home. 😊
Yep, I’m a homebody. Over the last five years, I have been drawn to the comfort and safety of my house rather than to venture out very much. Although I was often seen at band or volleyball events, it was with a camera in front of my face which helped avoid a lot of conversation.
No, I’m definitely not a snob. I am not a holy roller or in a clique. I am awkward. Especially around adults. This baffles me even now and seems so opposite of who I thought I was long ago. However, give me a group of young people or teenagers and it’s like I’m a different person. I could talk to them for hours and not feel judged or doubted in my sincerity.
My closest friends joke over who will “pick up Keysha” if dinner plans are made, otherwise they know I will text five minutes before saying I can’t make it.
Who has friends so forgiving that they would continue to seek out my company when I act that way? On occasion, if I cancel too much, there are those who just stop by unannounced. This can put me in full panic attack mode. I’m like that viral video of the mom storming through the house cleaning everything, changing the blinds and steaming the carpet when guests approach.
A favorite memory was when I received a text that a friend was stopping by, and I didn’t reply at first. I sat in bed thinking of various excuses I could give that would sound legit, because laundry was on my bed, and my kitchen table is forever covered in crafts. Within five minutes, I looked down to see that she had texted again with the following words, “Don’t sit there thinking up excuses. I’ll be there at 3.”
First, I cackled. Out loud. Her calling me out was laughter to my weary soul because apparently, I am that predictable, and she loved me enough to push past my boundaries and force me to have adult conversation. Then, I had to race to the shower, put on the dreaded bra (you know all women think that), and make my house look presentable. It was so nice while she was there, and I wondered why I have to get over some type of barrier to just have a normal friend visit.
The Lord certainly tried to break me of this, whatever it is, when I broke my leg in December 2016. It was a horrible break of my fibula and tibia that required a metal plate and nine screws to put me back together. The loss of mobility at home, driving, working…everything in life, was insane. I could walk on crutches, but I couldn’t carry anything. No food, no laundry, no chores, not even to walk to the copy machine at work. I carried a backpack which made me feel like a fat, Ninja turtle, or I used a wheelchair.
Friends came and cleaned, brought food, went “upstairs” to where the girls lived, a place I could not access. I heard there was dog poop up there at one point, and a toilet had to be plunged. I was mortified. Ugh, why can’t I have a Southern Living, Pinterest, everything-in-it’s-place house? Well, Keysha, because that’s not real life sometimes, and your friends don’t care.
I will keep pinning and dreaming.
As always, the seemingly off-topic, plate-of-spaghetti storyline I made you hike through, eventually comes back around to the title, The Car.
A couple of weeks ago I was talking to my grandfather (the preacher). For those who do not know, I lived with my grandparents a good portion of my life, so he’s more than a grandfather.
He talks to me more since my brother died last year, and he always says I love you. I knew he loved me my whole life, but he never said it. Knowing he probably wishes he had said it more to Jeremy stabs at my heart when I hear the words…because I know why he is saying them.
I had called to speak to my grandmother, but she was not there. His speech was different and he told me he had Bell’s Palsy. For the first time in 65 years, he did not preach that Sunday. An MRI revealed he had two previous strokes he didn’t know about.
His real health problem right now, and in recent years, are his kidneys. Without dialysis one doctor gave him a year or so to live, while another doctor said it could be 3-6 months.
My grandfather will not be having dialysis. He is 83 and said he has lived a long life, and he would not spend his final days being driven back and forth to a machine, that could not even guarantee to help extend his life.
The immediate family met for lunch that Saturday and talked like we used to do, years ago when we had lunch every weekend, on Sundays after church. The Simpsons can very blunt about life, death and the Bible, and so went our conversation that day.
I grew up never visiting a grave, and I mean no disrespect to those who find comfort in doing so. My thought is…whatever gives you peace, do it.
My peace happens to be drying funeral flowers and making various crafts, like a pillow from my brother’s shirts, or a bracelet from one of his belts. My brother is not in his grave and talking to him there would not make me feel better. It’s just a place that is void of life, and of the spirit.
That’s just me, though. Our family is different like that. Graves are more of a custom for those left behind, and not for those we lost. And, this is why I want to be cremated and mixed with a little glitter or maybe beach sand. 😉 It will make a nice, Christmas ornament (in one of those clear, glass balls) or dainty charm for a bracelet or necklace. I am so serious. Spending money on extravagant death rituals just seems…well, wasteful. He could have used it more when he was alive.
Back to the topic of living, the Bible says there is appointed unto man a time to die, and my grandfather seems at peace to meet the Lord whenever that may be. He does not care much for doctors and he said he didn’t want anyone to be sad. I’ll push this thought to the back of my mind for now.
Then, we playfully debated the Bible, including topics about life and death. Like, when God would shorten or possibly extended someone’s life, like Hezekiah, and what actions on man’s part ever caused God to change His mind. We quizzed each other about what two people never tasted death, and what the Bible really says about who is know and not known.
We all love to discuss the Bible, especially the controversial parts, until someone gets a little too sensitive when we disagree, and I call timeout. It’s funny to me, and to my dad, but if Mawmaw and Pawpaw start arguing about when the sons of God and the daughters of men got together (from Genesis 6), they are not joking anymore. 😂 This history of the Nephilim has absolutely nothing to do with my salvation, and in my opinion, cannot damage the gospel. It is fascinating and fun to research, and how it could explain some often debated mysteries, like ancient human skull sizes. Mawmaw and Pawpaw see this verse from very different views. They’ve been married all this time, in the ministry together since high school, and can bring some fire still in our round table talks.
During this lunch, my grandfather said he had decided to give Melody one of their cars, because he knew he wouldn’t be able to drive anymore. There are other people in our family that need a car more than Melody, but yet, she’s the one to get it.
Although what they owe on it is a small amount, I feel extremely guilty taking anything from my grandparents, who have provided for me endlessly, and without hesitation since I was born.
They are not wealthy by earthly standards, and my grandmother’s medicine costs more than her social security check. It is honestly by God’s very Hand, examples of provision that you would not believe, even if I tried to describe it, that have carried them from ages 17 and 18 – to their current ages of 83 and 84.
WE, the children and grandchildren, should be helping to support them now. But, I cannot.
My grandfather still wants to give. He wants to give to the girl who is possibly his last great-grandchild, and who would not have received a car without this blessing.
I cried this morning as I started typing this, that the decline of my grandfather’s health is what brought about my daughter being able to have something I can’t give her – something I’ve worried about for months.
As the Bible says, “Who by worrying can add a single day to his life? Do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will take care of itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.”
God has provided a car two weeks before her birthday. He already knew this provision would be made, and yet I have worried anyway.
God could have revealed this months ago and not waited until the last minute, or given me peace if I had truly surrendered the concern to Him… but I didn’t. This is just another lesson for me, and hopefully for Melody, on why she and her sister have middle names of Faith and Hope.
I should practice what I preach. ❤️
I have cried over this because he (and my dad) gave me several cars as a teenager, and a couple of times I was so ungrateful. He still tells a story of the time I drove a little, Chevy S-10 truck. I wanted a cover over the back so I could put luggage and things in there for my senior trip, and when I moved to college. It was the era of the low-riders (no, I didn’t not have one), but there was a flat cover that came for trucks.
He came home with a pop up, camper-like addition on the truck.
There were windows on the side of it and you could roll them out….like people could fit in the back or something.
I was embarrassed and cried that it was ugly. He took it back and had the kind I wanted installed. I was 17.
Could he even afford the cover I wanted? Or did he just misunderstand my initial request?
Did I ever stop for a minute to be grateful that I had a car at all? Or possibly – and calmly – talk through what the camper options were?
I know I hurt his feelings because he’s never forgotten it. Sure, he can be gruff and has hurt my feelings too, but I really wished I had not been so ungrateful.
I pray, and hope, and pray some more, that even though Clique and I would move heaven and earth to try and provide for the girls, that their hearts would tender and humble, and God will let them have wisdom beyond their years to recognize the sacrifices that three generations have made – and continue to make – just because we love them.
I pray for her safety and the opportunities this car will bring. May God go before her so she can find favor in interviews and college visits, and may she supernaturally protected from any accident, any roadside problem, even a flat tire.
May this freedom give way to new maturity, but not rebellion. May the Spirit that guided my grandparents remain very present and real, not just in the car, but in her heart, her whole life, and with everyone she meets.
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