I was given a car.
Like, “no strings attached, sign your name on the title as the new owner, and here’s some cash to fill up the gas tank” given a car. I need to share this beautiful testimony of provision. And I’m coming out of my unintentionally ridiculously lengthy blogging sabbatical to do so.
Last June, I moved to Georgia from obedience and in faith. I knew I had a job (hence the move), a place to stay for a few weeks before I found a home, and a 65 liter backpack of some essentials. I experienced so much grace and confirmation that I’d be able to build an enriching life here within my first weeks. Actually, within the FIRST week, I found the roommate and family I’d be living with more permanently. (Which, honestly, deserves a blog of its own.)
Georgia quickly became home.
One challenge in feeling fully free in my new community, however, surfaced in not having a car. My generous roommate is also a coworker, so I had a ride to and from the office daily. But living in the woods of North Georgia where everything seems to be a 25 minute drive away and public transportation doesn’t really exist proved to be a bit unideal.
With my role bringing me out of the country for weeks at a time to partner with the missionaries I oversee, I decided to postpone looking into purchasing a car until late fall.
Or even January.
I spent the month of September in Romania. Chatting with one of my friends one day, I shared about how I really wanted a car when I got back to the states. We had this conversation while grocery shopping. And when we got to the check out line, among the candy bars and knickknacks for sale right before the cash register, I spotted a yellow and green car air freshener. The kind that you hang over your rearview mirror. My friend says, “Buy that in faith. You’ll hang it in a car you get. And that you’ll get the car soon.”
So I did.
In October, a generous coworker friend let me use her car while she was out of the country for most of the month. I found freedom in not having to schedule trips to the grocery store and being able to let myself get a little lost while acquainting myself with the winding country roads snaking through my town.
While driving home the evening before my friend returned to the States, and thus, my last evening with her car, I started weeping. Like, “tears dripping from your chin, taking sharp inhalations cause I guess you don’t breath deeply when your eyes leak(?)” weeping.
And at first I felt deep embarrassment. “Am I really so materialistic that not having a car makes me weep?” I thought, in shame.
But the Father responded to my internal question with, “There is no shame in grieving the end of a season.”
When I pulled into my driveway, tears still falling, I audibly prayed, “Father, I’ve never known lack. Ever. And I praise you. And I praise you that You are faithful. And I praise You for the car You’ll bring to me. Whether it’s through the means of the money I’m saving or another way. I praise you. This car; I’ll be generous with it.”
October gave way to November and I found myself in Eastern Europe again. Checking my email late one night after a day filled with hearing testimonies from my teams and exploring the streets of Skopje, Macedonia, I get one with the subject line “You get a Car!”
So an anonymous donor wants to give you my car, but wants to make sure you‘re interested first. Feel free to call me with any questions. I can tell you stuff like mileage, insurance etc and any other info. I can also help you estimate the tax and tag stuff.
Let me know.”
What. On. Earth. So I reached out to him. “Him” being a coworker who had just purchased a new car and was selling his previous one. And someone wanting me to have it. I starting tearing up. Then laughing. Then dancing. And I shared this beautiful news with my friend in the other room.
I spent the month of December in Zambia, and honestly, didn’t think that much about the car awaiting me back in the States. But when I landed in Georgia at the beginning of January, I reconnected with this coworker, and within my first 36 hours of being in home, a car with my name on the title sat in my driveway. Since it hadn’t been driven in over a month, I was counseled to let in run for about 30 minutes. When I went back out to turn it off, I realized it was parked in the same spot as my friend’s car had been on the evening I wept about loss and provision in one breath.
So again, I started weeping in my driveway.
This time, my tears didn’t contain any grief.
Only overwhelm at the goodness of God. And being overcome with how much He sees and trusts me.
I have no idea who this anonymous donor is. But they wrote me this note:
Knowing that the anonymous donor is someone who also works for Adventures means the car was purchased for me by someone who also likely support-raises about 50% of their salary. What a generous sacrifice. It’s humbling to not have a way to specifically thank this person, but I am so grateful.
And here’s the air freshener that my friend told me to buy in faith back in Romania:
I was given a car.