The Scarlet Car

The scarlet car sits silently in my driveway.  I can sees it from my window, where I pray, where I write.  There is no one in the driver's seat.  There are no passengers.  It is my riderless horse, fireman's last call, and soldiers empty boots.  It is my father's car. I have allowed myself to look at it from a distance as it holds so much within.  It is solemn, sacred, and although empty, it holds precious memories locked behind its doors.  Most are joyful, but some are painful.

It is almost Thanksgiving and as I drive down to the lower driveway, I see the scarlet car.  I feel an unexpected wave of grief rise within me.  For a moment I wonder "why is my dad parked down here?" And as quickly as the moment comes I remember he is not here and he will never be here again.  I walk slowly past the driver's side, and pause for a moment brushing off the snow that sticks stubbornly to the glass.  I peek through the window and suddenly the car is filled with life.

I cannot even count the number of times I leaned into this same window smelling the sweet fragrance of the tobacco wafting  from a pipe dad wasn't supposed to smoke. I sees the packages of spearmint gum resting on the center console.  I close my eyes and inhale deeply.  I can almost smell them both on his breath as I did every Thursday when he came to take my boys to lunch.  I carefully instructed him on what they could eat and when to have them back to school.  He would grin and wave as the power window slid up and into place.  Then he would drive away with his special lunch dates.

I can see them laughing at silly jokes, and hear the laughter resonating through the frosted windows.  It was in the scarlet car that priceless relationships were forged.  I see the trips he made to school to deliver forgotten homework, medicine, or money for lunch because they new he would be there in a flash.  They knew that I, on the other hand, would have let them learn from their zero, or figure out how to eat lunch off their buddies cast offs.

I continue to gaze into the window and see their muddy footprints on the mats of the scarlet car after a lacrosse game in the rain.  Never once would dad complain about the dirt and grime they left behind.  They insisted on riding with him even when I was there.  I know it was in the scarlet car that they shared there hopes, their dreams, their fears and heartaches.  He was the confidant every child needed; knowing that Bop would share only if it endangered them or some one else.  It was an unspoken agreement between my dad, their grandfather, and each of the boys.

He in turn shared with them his successes, failures, and how to know God's love for each of them in a personal way.  It was in the scarlet car the he drove to our families' baptism in the neighbors pool, and to his own in Walloon.

The scarlet car, it was Santa's sleigh. Each year, as they read the Polar Express the boys would catch a glimpse of Santa through a frosted window much like the one I am looking through, and in the morning would find their jingle bell.  I wonder if the sleigh ever brought Santa to Ian, his youngest grandson and my tears begin to flow.

It was Bop that picked them up when they got sick at school, and Dad that brought his forty something "little girl" crunchy ice from Frischs' drive through when she was sick.  It was in the scarlet car that I revealed that I was sick again, scared, and this time I needed more than crunchy ice.  I needed him to step in and be the hero that I always thought he was, but it was too late.  His greatest asset had become his tragic flaw.  He had trusted and tried to help out the wrong people.  He confessed and asked for my forgiveness.  It was from this car that I exited with a tear stained face, and realized he had noting left to give.

Two years later with my hand on the scarlet car, I let it all go.  Then I sit and watch the snow melt, washing the scarlet car and I hear God speak.  "Come now let's settle this," says the Lord.  "Though your sins are like scarlet I will make them white as snow."(Isaiah 1:18)  And with that I scrape some snow off the roof of the car allowing it to melt in the warmth of my hand, remembering  that I too am forgiven and washed as white as snow.