My mom and dad have this car, a 1998 Toyota Avalon. The first car my mom ever bought, not leased, and she definitely did her homework. My parents have purchased newer vehicles since, but after nearly 17 years and more than 200,000 miles, that old Toyota was still going strong.
Sure, it had rust spots from too much time parked outside in bad weather, and at times the engine squeaked and screamed loud enough to scare children on the other side of the globe, but my wife and I adopted the car as our own and used it in the summer months to drive down from the city to visit my parents at the Jersey Shore. I dubbed it “The Smoke Monster” after the shape-shifting, immortal creature from the TV show “Lost.”
Then last fall, a man knocked on my parents’ front door. A stranger. He’d seen the car parked outside the house, and was interested in it. After my mom assured him that it still ran, he offered to buy it right then, without even a cursory inspection. For a 17-year-old car, his offer was more than fair.
My mom turned him down. After all, my wife and I planned to use it the following summer. The man left, never to be seen again.
A few weeks later, my mom took the car in to get its inspection renewed. The “Check Engine” light lit up on the way there. Every mechanic my mom went to told her the same thing. “Nothing can be done.” The car failed inspection—marked with a red sticker of death.
“I should have sold it to that man,” my mom told me, with a sigh.
I thought about the old Toyota when I read a story sent by longtime reader Jeanette Martino Land, of North Palm Beach, Florida…
“My Honda Civic was 10 years old and had 117,000 miles on it. It still ran well, but my husband Jack bought me a new car. ‘We’ll sell the old one,’ Jack insisted. ‘We can get $2000 for it.’ He placed an ad in the paper.
The first caller made an appointment to see the car, but never showed. The second person tried to start the car and flooded the engine. The third interested party had the car checked out by a mechanic and put down a deposit, but couldn’t come up with any more money and backed out of the deal.
Jack and I were frustrated. Would we ever sell this car? I went to the chapel to pray about it. I put our problem before the Lord and waited for an answer. In the silence, I heard a voice. Give your Honda to Jeannine.
Jeannine was a woman from our church. I didn’t know her very well. I told Jack about what I’d heard. He didn’t argue. He just scratched his head, looked up Jeannine’s number and made the call. Jeannine seemed shocked at the offer, and told Jack she’d call back.
A few minutes later, she did. ‘Just before I got your phone call, I had been on my knees, crying and praying,’ Jeannine told us. What had she been desperately praying for? You guessed it—a car. God answered her prayer.”
Maybe my mom should have sold “The Smoke Monster” to that mysterious visitor. Perhaps he was some sort of angel of (engine) death with foreknowledge of our future trouble, trying to help us out.
Jeanette’s story reassures me though—that old Toyota will end up where it belongs, even if its as scrap metal. There’s a plan for everyone—and everything.
Have your plans ever gone wrong—for a good reason? Did you turn down an odd offer, and later realize it was one you should have taken? Share your stories with us.
