This is a truck. A Ford, to be more precise. An F150, to be even more precise. A 1997 F150, V8, automatic in a regular cab, short bed chassis with add-on camper top, to be bordering on motorhead precision here.
But that’s not all it is.
It’s a place where stories have been told, and secrets shared which have never left the cab.
It’s a place where hours of meaningful solitude have been racked up, and are still rolling along with the 364,000+ miles on the odometer as daily commutes to and from work are driven.
It’s a place of shelter when I’m in the wild of West Texas, sleeping under the endless stars and thanking my Creator for sights unseen by man for possibly centuries of time.
It’s been the rescue vehicle for many a family member in need, when I’ve been roused from deep slumber or pulled away from work activities due to issues elsewhere.
It’s a place where many a podcast has educated, inspired, and encouraged me to keep on keepin on, even when things were looking bleak.
It’s the place where over 2,200 individual songs on my music-on-demand player have been “liked” during hours and hours of driving. I only really listen to on-demand music when driving.
But mostly, it’s a symbol of rebirth. Of renewal. Of maintaining that which can be saved.
A little over 8 years ago I arrived in this place from overseas, penniless, in unspeakable debt, having had family torn asunder and only a hope of income to sustain me.
This was my first tangible purchase meant to get me through the day and off the public transport system. Walking a mile to and from the home-based bus stop, then another quarter mile or so to and from the downtown work location stop to work in the steamy, sometimes torrential southeastern Texas climate wasn’t helping me to present the case of me being a successful software developer. And in the post-recession financial climate, presentation was EVERYTHING.
It wasn’t just a work thing I was resolving. I was beat. I won’t go into detail about what was happening, but I needed desperately to fix something and keep it fixed.
So here we are, some 8 years later.
The truck is still running – as am I.
It has its days where things stop working well due to old age or daily wear, and need attention – as do I.
It hopefully has many more days of adventures, of untold stories, of sights to behold – as do I, I pray.