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What restoring a classic Mustang taught me about spiritual imperfection
A classic car restoration becomes a meditation on imperfection, faith and the grace we all need
By Julie A. Ferraro | FāVS News Writer
The views expressed in this opinion column are those of the author. They do not necessarily reflect the views of FāVS News.
There are two key sentences I use when describing myself to people:
- I’m a writer, but I do many things.
- There are two things I drool over: classic cars and chocolate.
That pretty much sums me up.
It also explains why I purchased a 1974 Mustang last August, entrusting it to my oldest son — one of five generations of mechanics in the family — to restore for me.
I’ve wanted one of these “baby Mustangs” for many years. While I love the larger muscle cars, the little ones are kind of cute while maintaining the style of their larger “brothers” — and far easier to fit into parking spaces.
Sanding away the past
The silver color is being replaced by “Light Grabber Blue” with a silver racing stripe. My son recently sent me a photo of the hood, removed from the body, sanded in preparation for painting, with repairs to a few dents.
Personally, I think dents give a car character. I’ve seen owners of brand new cars go into hysterics when they find the first scratch or dent on their vehicle.
But, we need to remember, nothing is perfect.
Contemplating that photo of my Mustang’s hood brought this home to me in a very real way. It reminded me of a person’s soul, traveling through life and facing various challenges: sprays of gravel on the road, splashes of mud, insects caught in the grille that “dent” us in very real, sometimes painful, ways. We are wounded beings, imperfect.
Yet, so many try to pretend they are perfect, hiding their flaws beneath masks of deceit or bravado.
Like putting a fresh coat of wax on a car every week to cover up the scratches and dents.
My brother had a 1967 Pontiac GTO, and I watched him diligently polish the body every week. The thing is, because he’d run the car into a cement wall, the frame was never level, no matter how much work he put into it. He so wanted the car to be perfect, but it was not to be.
Living in a state of denial about it only wastes valuable energy.
As Jesus showed his Apostles and disciples, admitting our weaknesses is the first step to being healed. He cured those who acknowledged their shortcomings and placed their faith in him.
He ignored the common prejudices about foreigners and treated them with dignity and respect. He scolded those who pretended to be righteous “just for show” while harboring less than upright thoughts in their hearts.
The call to live honestly
The call of faith, the example of Jesus, is one of living honestly. If we’ve been “banged up” by life, there’s no shame in that.
If we’ve made wrong turns onto rutted, dirt roads and scraped our undercarriage, maybe struck a rock and punctured the oil pan, we should face the consequences and allow ourselves to be towed into the “repair shop” that is Jesus’ loving mercy.
Pope Francis wrote in his encyclical “Amoris Laetitia” — “The Joy of Love” — that the Eucharist is “nourishment for the weak” and not meant as a “prize for the perfect.”
Just as every motorized vehicle needs a yearly tune-up — sometimes more often, depending on its age — we approach the altar and share in the great gift Jesus left to us as imperfect individuals in need of a spiritual tune-up.
We should remember that caring for our interior components is as important as making sure our exterior is well polished and sparkling, like rows of classics on display at a car show.
No one would enter their “baby” in such a competition without vacuuming the seats and the rugs, wiping the dust off the dashboard, and so forth.
The time and effort it takes to restore a vehicle like my 1974 Mustang should also be dedicated to restoring our souls from whatever issues life has thrown at us. I don’t ever expect that car to be perfect, but I’ll be happy to crawl behind the wheel and jam the accelerator to the floor, because I know it will run as it should.
Our souls should “run” well, too — run toward the God who loves us, even if we aren’t perfect.
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