I Think God Wanted Me to have a New Car
October 30 2019
On Boxing Day 2016, I was driving home from my parents, along a dual-lane street in the Perth CBD. I was in the left lane going straight, and someone was in the right lane, awaiting to turn right with a green light but no green arrow. For reasons they potentially don’t even understand, they veered out into my lane and sideswiped my poor blue Mazda 3.
Likely panicking, they quickly took off and turned right. I’m still not sure if it was just an instinctual reaction, and whether they would have soon snapped back to consciousness and stopped, or if they would have taken off and left behind the scene of the crime. Luckily, I didn’t get the chance to find out, because on the opposite side of the intersection, watching the whole thing unfold, was an undercover police car. As the kids say: lol.
I was fine. The poor P-plater in the other car seemed fine, as did his three friends. I thought my car was fine, except for a door that didn’t quite open with the lack of friction that was originally intended. The police took our details; the P-plater and I exchanged our details. He seemed relieved that my first reaction was joking that it was lucky he had a shit car, which in hindsight was slightly if appropriately passive-aggressive.
Not that I could talk. Turns out my car wasn’t fine.
A not-fine car that isn’t mine, included here for dramatic effect (Photo by Michael Jin on Unsplash)
My beloved blue 2004 Mazda 3 had been my only car, and while I had never had a crash, it did bear the battle scars of the great storm of 2010, when Perth was peppered by you-wish-they-were-only-the-size-of-golf-ball-sized hail stones that caused the most expensive natural disaster in Western Australia’s history. Think i’m joking? The storm has its own Wikipedia page.
Turns out these dings undermined the value of the car against its market value, and it was to be written off. I was gutted — such injustice!
I did a bit of searching for a new car, and knowing nothing and caring almost less about cars, was looking at another 2004 Mazda 3. Preferably blue — why undertake more change than necessary during times of such upheaval?
Then my dad was walking the dog, and noticed that his neighbours two blocks up were selling a 2004 Peugeot 307. A slightly darker shade of blue, regrettably. I walked up the street and had a test drive the next day. It wasn’t my car — it didn’t have the weirdly but comfortingly loose gear stick, for a start — but it seemed to drive okay.
It seemed a bit overpriced and needed new tyres, but they were flexible on the price. And they were neighbours who we knew and trusted, so I could avoid most of the normal BS that comes with buying a car. And at this stage it wasn’t worth overthinking, so I bought it.
Or we bought it. No, my parents bought it. The money from the insurance hadn’t come in yet, and as per usual (my whole life) I wasn’t flushed with excess cash, so my parents agreed to transfer the money. And which I still haven’t paid back. Whoops.
What is the point of this story, you might reasonably ask?
I could, and did at the time, see this event as something quite profound. I drove the 2 minute drive home, and tried to comprehend what had just happened. Looking back at my steam of consciousness diarising that night, it appears I found some sort of confirmation:
“We don’t choose our circumstances, but we choose what to make of them. What was that? I can choose to see that as a sign, a warning, a wake up call. But I don’t. I can can choose to see nothing, but I don’t. I choose confirmation. A car crash, maybe — but not all crashes are the same. Some are not our fault, some are still unavoidable. All can be faced with grace…and humour? Above all… You will be watching; I will be protected.”
That’s probably all true, if certainly poorly written. But in hindsight, I see it much more clearly.
I had a shit car. It was past its prime, dinged — it was cooked, done.
I was, not to my knowledge at that time, about to embark on a new chapter in my life, which would involve regularly driving to and from my now new home town of Esperance — between 7 and 8 hours each way, depending on how much you want to test the goodwill of the country road gods. As it turns out, Peugeot's are relatively unique in having 2004 models with cruise control — really handy for solo 7–8 hour car trips.
So, really, the whole incident added up to me having a free, new, better car.
I believe many things about God — the Protector, the All-Powerful, the All-Generous etc. Basically, all the good stuff. I also believe he has a wicked — no, divine — sense of humour.
In this case, I think He really just wanted me to have a new car, and thought He would f — k with me a bit along the way.
Here’s to finding the divine humour in everything.