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Lil Red

I've always loved my truck.
She's a '93 Toyota Pick Up.
When I was 15, my dad taught me how to drive her.
She drove me to high school, friends homes, to college...
She was my getaway from my wedding.
She's never steered me wrong :)

In fact, about a month ago,
my little brother (8 years old) was assigned to write an autobiography,
from someone else's perspective of their life.
He decided to write the story of my truck.
He actually wrote the story from my truck's perspective.
I was surprised that it made me remember just how sentimental I am about Lil Red.

 
So back to the present...
On Monday I had my first accident.
I was slowed to 40 mph in a rush hour back up on the freeway when I was suddenly T-boned at 70 mph by a driver trying to veer into my lane who hadn't seen me or the slowing traffic.
I was between the car and a concrete wall so, to be honest, I don't have any idea how I kept control of my steering wheel when he hit me. My head slammed against the door window and I had an adrenaline rush the likes of which I'd never felt before.

As the other car managed to get out of my driver side door and pull over in front of me, I realized what had happened and faces came to my mind. My husband, my family, my dogs... I needed to get to them.

A police officer pulled up behind me on the side of the road and walked up to tell us to pull off the freeway. I was able to do this since the driver had hit my door, not my engine. When I parked off the freeway, I realized that I couldn't open my door. I could hear air blowing through it.

Clambering out through the passenger side door, I ran around my car to see the damage. When I saw it, I gasped and tears welled up in my eyes. 

I couldn't believe it. Now, I don't have any fancy new car. 
In fact, my car is pretty scratched up in places and the carpet has Dr. Pepper stains.
But  I have worked pretty dang hard to take care of Lil Red.
I have replaced the entire air conditioning, 
the radiator, 
all of the window clasps, 
the catalytic converter,
the belts multiple times,
replaced many other parts,
changed the oils and tires myself,
gotten a stereo system and speakers, 
and taken great care not to scrub the remaining red paint off of the exterior.
You could say that I love my truck.
And you would be right.

Even though she's old,
she's always kept me out of harms way.
Now looking at the my door completely impaled and not even able to seal at any part, 
I felt hot tears run down my cheeks.
Not just because I was sad about my car either.
One look at Lil Red and I had a terrible feeling that I wouldn't have survived without her.
The police took one look at my door and said,
"It's a good thing you were driving an old metal truck because if you had a newer plastic car, 
you wouldn't be standing here right now."


Terrible feeling confirmed.
 After all of our years together, 
Lil Red had saved my life this time.
Granted, I know my Heavenly Father was the one watching over me,
but I couldn't help but feel an overwhelming gratitude to this truck that had always given me her best.
I went home and felt so blessed to snuggle my dogs and be held in my husband's arms again.


The next day I woke up with a bruise on my head and arm,
a sore neck, 
and as I walked outside to head to work and saw my truck, I thought,
"Thanks Lil Red.  I wouldn't be here without you."

As I looked back at the story that my brother wrote, 
the last page took on an entirely new meaning for me. 
"I still work hard to protect Siri."
She does.
That she does.