Lost Art | Week Twenty-Seven

Throughout the years, my father always took care of my car. He regularly sent it in for a service, made sure it was filled with petrol, and always arranged with the gardener to wash my car. I never had to worry about it, I simply drove it.

Now that my father isn’t here anymore, the responsibility of taking care of my car now falls on me. I’ve always taken good care of everything I’ve got – my hearing aids, cellphone, laptop, etc. Everything I own usually lasts almost forever.

So when my car suddenly started making a strange noise, I found that very odd. Odd, because just a few weeks earlier, my car’s left front tire had a puncture and I took it in to be fixed. Odd, because my car also started rusting on the outside in some areas because we live on the coast. I became suspicious – who damaged my car and why? Was it the tire guy? Was it the panel beater? What did they do to my car?

The noise started getting louder and louder until I had no choice but to take it to a mechanic. He took the car for a drive, and came back with a grave report: ‘I will have to take this car apart to see where’s the problem.’

To me, it sounded like an operation, but also an unnecessary one. It was going to cost me a lot of money, and the mechanic might even damage more parts of my beloved 7-year-old car.

My mom and I took a few days to think about it, then decided to get a second opinion from another mechanic.

Monday morning came, and the second mechanic took a look at the car. He went under the car and saw something was a bit lose and screwed it tighter. He also took the car for a short drive and came back. ‘Your car is a 2-by-4; the setting for that was on. That’s why it was making such a noise; you can’t drive a 2-by-4 car on a tar road.’

And just like that, within half an hour, the problem was fixed. He didn’t even want any money because the problem was ‘so small and so easy to fix.’

Afterward, my mom and I celebrated this incredible turn by eating a piece of chocolate cake at Tasty Table. We were in awe of what had happened. My mom said, ‘How good is our Heavenly Father, that He would look out for us like this?’

Yes, indeed. It is becoming a lost art to remember the good stuff, to focus on them, to celebrate them. In a time where bad news is the order of the day, it has become an art to celebrate the small moments of breakthroughs and blessings. I think it’s time we start counting the blessings in our lives. Let’s count them, one by one. We will be surprised to see what God has done.


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