Sugar Grove was tucked in for the night. Sunday evenings here grew quiet much sooner than the other nights of the weekend; it was, after all, a school night. Friday’s football game and Saturday’s chores stood in sharp contrast to the quietude of a Sabbath day in Sugar Grove. The activities of the weekend had taken their toll, leaving little else for the residents of this cozy village but to settle in for the evening.
The antique street lights had long ago lost their battle to the lush foliage of the huge maples lining Main Street, the same Sugar Maples that gave the village its name. The massive trees soaked up the street lights’ wattage, leaving only a dim glow to sprinkle onto the street below.
Suddenly, two jiggling headlights pierced the darkness like a cross-eyed cat. One headlight pointed down to the street directly in front of the Anglia, while the other lifted its focus into the maples as though scanning for varmints.
The old car bucked into Sugar Grove like a race horse approaching the starting gate. Its hi-performance engine was loud and simply not suited for domestic travel. Jim Roberts, known by his buddies only as “Roberts,” was hedging his bet by thundering into the quiet village: he was betting the town constable was home watching Bonanza with his family. It was America’s #1 show in 1965—and little wonder, it was “brought to you in Living Color!”
At the other end of Main Street, young Barry and his seasoned-mechanic-friend stood in silence, tracking the sound of the thumping race motor as it drew closer and closer. Roberts arm-wrestled the tiny English-built Anglia from the shadowy darkness of Main Street into the greenish-white neon glow of the Sinclair Station and coasted lazily to a stop.
Oblivious to his admiring audience, Roberts scanned the dash board with a pocket penlight and took the powerful engine’s pulse. Apparently satisfied it had survived this test session, he moved to the tachometer, a major instrument mounted on top of the dash directly in his line of sight—the only illuminated instrument in his crudely assembled car. Slowly he brought the engine RPMs up to an angry level. Holding the engine at that level, he quickly flipped a series of switches. The rush of quiet was unnerving as the distant sound of crickets replaced the engine’s rude commotion. Only then did Roberts acknowledge the two men leaning against the gas pumps.
While Roberts and the town mechanic discussed the characteristics of the newly assembled motor, Barry circled the car like a mongoose sizing up a cobra. As long as he could remember, he loved anything that smelled like gasoline or asphalt. He swore that one day he would drive his own hot rod.
Barry’s dreams had taken a quantum leap forward when his grandfather presented him the keys to his 57’ T-bird that had rested quietly in the horse barn for years. Flattened tires, years of dust and layers of bird crap failed to dampen Barry’s enthusiasm as he lovingly resurrected it from the far recesses of his grandpa’s barn.
Seeing Roberts rumble up in the Anglia hit him in the gut. It shook his faith that his old Bird would ever move under its own power. He was quickly learning that dreams come easier than reality.
In this story, Barry will continue to wrestle with the T-bird and will see it become both a curse and blessing on his way to maturity.
Haven’t you, like Barry, had times when a blessing ended up being more like a curse—and vice versa? Jesus Christ promises to never leave us in a godforsaken situation; instead, He promises to abide with us.
God is educating you; that’s why you must never drop out. He’s treating you as dear children. This trouble you’re in isn’t punishment; it’s training.” Hebrews 12:7 The Message
Read Ron’s column, Simple Faith, each Saturday on the Faith Page (page 3) of the Lancaster Eagle Gazette, or visit www.lancastereaglegazette.com.