Her name was Grace

I sat there in the driver’s seat, just as I had so many times before—only this time, I knew it would be the last. The afternoon sun reflected off the hood of the car piercing through the windshield and hitting my eyes, snapping me out of my trance. ‘Well, I’d better get on with it,’ I thought.

Leaning over, I opened the glove box. I began removing napkins, a flashlight, a plastic knife, fork, and some crumpled old papers. The faint smell of hazelnut filled the air, a remnant from an old coffee creamer left there during one of many previous road trips.

Buried beneath the car manual was an old CD, ‘Sarah McLachlan’—So, that’s where she’d been hiding! Smiling, I started the car and slid the disc into the player for old time’s sake.

‘Arms of the Angel’ played softly, a gentle reminder of long drives and the solitude I sought when the world outside felt too big. I must have sung that song a million times! I ran my fingers over the smooth leather steering wheel, and across the stitching of the fabric seat. Maybe it was the music, or the warmth of the sunlight, but a wave of nostalgia and sadness began to wash over me.

I had to laugh at myself, after all, this was just a car—some metal and rubber molded together for transportation. But she represented so much more to me. She was like an old friend, and she had held me so many times, just like an angel. She was a 2013 Hyundai Elantra, and her name was Grace.

I met Grace at the end of 2012, the year—if you remember—the world was supposedly ending.

In many ways, my own world had already crumbled. I had just gone through a breakup, a death, and a major move. To top it off, my old car had given up on me, leaving me stranded in more ways than one. Ahhh, good times.

So, on a Saturday afternoon, armed with a sliver of hope and almost no expectations, I walked into the dealership. What followed was eight or nine grueling hours of sitting on a hard, cold plastic chair—surely designed by someone with a grudge against comfort or salvaged from a medieval torture chamber; my discomfort was rivaled only by the gnawing hunger in my stomach. The groans from my belly sounded like the creak of an old, haunted door swinging open, and yet not a cracker or crumb was offered. I even tried hinting that I felt faint, but my pleas fell on deaf ears.

Negotiations dragged on endlessly—paperwork sliding back and forth across the desk, numbers scratched out and rewritten more times than I could count. I’m pretty sure I lost five pounds in the process. I was convinced I wouldn’t leave with a car that day. But somehow, when the dust settled, I drove off with Grace. I named her that because honestly, I felt I could use a little, and it felt like the grace of God that I had a new car at all.

As the years rolled on, Grace became the one constant in my life. Wherever I went, I went with Grace. Through every twist and turn, there was Grace. When life went downhill, I simply coasted in Grace. Grace never faltered and was always ready to carry me wherever I needed to go. In every sense, I was truly carried by Grace.

But as all journeys must eventually come to an end, so too did mine with my old car. With each item I removed, the bittersweet reality of time and goodbyes settled in. We had traveled countless miles together and now it was time to let her go.

As I handed over the keys, my fingers lingered for a moment as I said a silent “thank you” for our many years together, trusting that Grace’s journey wasn’t ending but rather starting anew with someone else.

Driving off the lot in my new car, “Harmony,” I felt a quiet reassurance that Grace would carry her next owner with the same steadfast care she had given me.

As you move through this new year, may your journey be smooth, your tank always full, and your destination one that brings you peace. And whatever potholes you encounter or detours you face, may you, too, be carried in grace.

With much love,

Darlene