Rolled Back Miles

The Day a Chevy Blazer Sent Our Ford Escort to Automotive Heaven

So after our heroic Ford Escort road trip to Colorado, I made another decision.

A questionable one.

I decided that since the Escort had survived 18 hours of highway, mountain passes, squealing brakes, and a theological quantity of duct tape, it clearly deserved further investment.

Which is the kind of financial reasoning that explains why I am not a certified financial planner.

So I started putting money into the car.

New battery.

New alternator.

New tires.

And not cheap tires either, because apparently when you spend your honeymoon driving through the Colorado mountains, the tires age like a president in office.

Seven days.

Seven years of wear.

But after a while I began to notice something strange about the Escort.

Every time I fixed one thing…

something else broke.

Not later.

Immediately.

It was like the car had a personality.

A personality that whispered,

“Oh… you fixed the alternator? That’s adorable. Let’s see how you feel about the radiator.”

And apparently I was very committed…because I kept fixing things.

Which is how I ended up back at the mechanic who had already given me the Brakes 101 lecture.

He looked at the car.

Looked back at me.

Then shook his head the way doctors do when patients explain how WebMD told them they were fine.

Finally he said,

“Son… that car probably never had 33,000 miles on it.”

He paused.

Then added,

“Because nothing with 33,000 miles should have that many parts falling off while you’re driving.”

And that’s when the realization began to dawn on me.

The fine people at the Buy Here, Pay Here — No Credit, Bad Credit, God Bless America Used Car Emporium had probably engaged in a little practice known in the automotive world as:

Creative Dashboard Accounting.

In other words…

The odometer had been edited.

Revised.

Spiritually interpreted.

Somewhere along the line that car’s life story had been shortened by about 60,000 miles.

Which meant the Escort had not actually lived the quiet life of a gently driven church grandma car that only went to Bible study and the grocery store.

No.

That vehicle had clearly seen some things.

And now those things were falling off one piece at a time while I was driving it.

And really, I should have known.

Because of where I bought it.

You know the kind of place.

The giant banner out front says:

BUY HERE
PAY HERE
NO CREDIT
BAD CREDIT
WE BELIEVE IN SECOND CHANCES

Which sounds wonderful.

Honestly it sounds like the mission statement of a church.

But in this case their understanding of “second chances” apparently extended to the odometer as well.

Now back before dashboards went digital, odometers were mechanical.

Little number wheels.

Click… click… click.

Every mile moving the numbers forward.

Unless, of course, you were the kind of person who believed rules were more like friendly suggestions.

Then those numbers could also move backward.

Which meant a car with 90,000 miles could suddenly present itself as a youthful vehicle with 33,000 miles and a promising future.

Millennials reading this devotional may need to Google the phrase “odometer rollback.”

Or ask ChatGPT.

But trust me.

It was a thing.

And that Escort had very clearly lived more life than advertised.

The Day the Escort Met Its Destiny

But the final chapter of the Escort story came one afternoon that I will never forget.

Renee was driving the Escort.

And a 19-year-old girl in a Chevy Blazer ran a red light.

Not a close call.

Not a “barely missed it” situation.

She T-boned the Escort.

Hard.

The Blazer pushed that little Ford Escort about 150 feet…

and then introduced it to a light pole.

Now if you’ve ever wondered how durable a Ford Escort is…

let’s just say that experience answered the question.

The car was done.

Finished.

Mechanically deceased.

At that moment something else happened that I will always remember.

My wife Renee—the holiest woman I have ever known—

cussed.

Not dramatically.

But clearly.

At the 19-year-old driver.

Which, for the record, was one of three times in our entire marriage I remember that happening.

And for once in our relationship, the roles reversed.

I had to be the calm one.

I looked at her and said,

“Hey… settle down. You didn’t die.”

The Escort, however…

was very dead.

It would require more than a brake job this time.

The Insurance “Miracle”

A few weeks later USAA sent us the insurance settlement.

Eight hundred dollars.

Eight.

Hundred.

Dollars.

Which was fascinating.

Because I was pretty sure I had paid more than $800 in insurance premiums over the life of that vehicle.

At that moment a dangerous thought crossed my mind.

Maybe I should have just self-insured.

Apparently USAA had calculated the Escort’s market value using a very honest formula:

Age of car
Number of falling parts
Amount of duct tape required to keep it operational

Final verdict: $800.

The Escort was officially worth less than the tires I had just put on it.

And just like that…

the Ford Escort chapter of our lives ended.

The Spiritual Lesson of the Rolled-Back Odometer

But that little car taught me something.

Not about brakes.

Not about insurance.

About human nature.

Because that Escort had one big problem.

Someone had rolled back the miles.

The numbers on the dashboard told one story.

But the condition of the car told another.

And the truth is…

we human beings do the exact same thing.

We try to roll back the miles.

Spiritually.

Emotionally.

Relationally.

We polish the dashboard.

We hide the wear and tear.

We put a wax job on fading paint.

We pretend our life is still at mile 33,000.

But eventually the brakes squeak.

The mirrors fall off.

The dashboard lights start blinking.

Because you can hide mileage for a while… but eventually the truth shows up in the driving.

Where are my readers with high mileage at? Can I get an amen?

God Likes High-Mileage People

Here’s the part that always surprises people.

God is not looking for low-mileage people.

God actually seems to prefer high-mileage ones.

Take Moses for example.

When God called him to confront Pharaoh—the most powerful man in the world—and lead Israel out of Egypt…

Moses was 80 years old.

Eighty.

Hello high mileage.

By that point Moses had already lived a full life.

He had grown up in Pharaoh’s palace.

He had committed a crime and fled Egypt.

He had spent forty years in the wilderness herding sheep.

If Moses had been a car sitting on a dealership lot, the salesman would have looked at him and said,

“Well… this one has definitely been driven.”

So when God calls Moses to lead Israel, Moses starts arguing.

He basically says:

“Lord… I think you’re overestimating my condition.”

“I’m not a good speaker.”

“I’m not qualified.”

“I’m not the right guy.”

In modern language Moses might have said:

“Lord… my rotors have been turned.”

“My brakes squeak.”

“And honestly I require a lot of duct tape.”

And God’s response is essentially this:

“Perfect.”

Because when God uses someone who clearly isn’t the most impressive candidate…

people start realizing something.

This wasn’t Moses.

This was God.

Which is exactly the point Paul later makes in the New Testament.

“God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong.”
— 1 Corinthians 1:27

God does that on purpose.

Because when the power clearly isn’t coming from the person…everyone starts seeing where the power actually came from.

The Good News About Spiritual Mileage

Here’s the good news.

God isn’t intimidated by your mileage.

He already knows it.

The dents.

The breakdowns.

The questionable decisions.

The seasons where your faith sounded a little like those Escort brakes.

Squeeeeeeeeeeek.

God sees all of it.

And He still says,

“Let’s keep going.”

Because God doesn’t redeem people by rolling back their miles.

He redeems them by using them.

Looking back, that Escort wasn’t really a great car.

But it carried us through some important miles.

And maybe that’s the lesson.

Your life doesn’t have to look brand new for God to use it.

It just has to keep moving forward.

Because faith isn’t about pretending your dashboard still says 33,000 miles.

Faith is trusting God with a life that has clearly been driven.

And thankfully…

God has never been afraid of a vehicle with a little wear on the tires.

The Best Is Yet to Come,

Rev. John Roberts