When she was in high school, my wife bought a used 1994 Ford Explorer. It had low mileage, but quite a bit of rust from being stored outside. Before we were dating, I let her use my car while she worked in Omaha because it had functional brakes and got better gas mileage. Since that drive from Nebraska to Missouri, the Explorer has only driven on the highway a handful of times.
While living in Illinois, I had a friend ask for the chance to work on the Explorer a little bit. We hardly drive the beast, but it was clear it needed attention. The brakes didn't work well and we'd been told previously they were completely shot. It smoked when you drove it and made noises odd at higher speeds. When you turned or hit even the smallest bump, it bounced and bounced and bounced. It was very bouncy. That part was sort of fun, but apparently fairly dangerous. We (and by we, I mean almost exclusively my friend) replaced the rear brakes, the brake line, the shocks, the upper gasket (?), and a few other things I can't remember. By my estimation, my friend saved me well over a thousand dollars in labor at a mechanic. That is why I called him "my friend" like 5 times in that paragraph.
We still have that Explorer. It has around 75,000 miles on it and has been ours for more than 10 years, paid off for a good portion of that. It is rusted to the point that pieces regularly just fall off, gets terrible gas mileage, and black sludge leaks from the steering wheel and sticks to your hand whenever it gets hot outside. The radio/tape player doesn't work and neither does the AC, plus the windows don't roll down unless you pull down on the window itself while pushing the button. Yeah, pretty sweet.
Sandy talks about getting ready of the Explorer quite a bit, but I can't imagine trading off a car with so few miles that is so completely paid off. We hardly even have to pay insurance, because it has so little value that we'd probably have to pay someone to take it.
All the same, some people still admire the old girl.
A few weeks back, I was climbing into the Explorer after a quick trip into the grocery store when an older man stopped me to ask about the Explorer.
Hey, excuse me, what year is your Explorer?
Umm... 92? 94? I don't remember.
Oh ok. What's it got under the hood.
Ummm" (quizzical look)
4 cylinder? 6?
I think 4, but I am not sure. (Should I know that?)
I ask because I used to have one. It was a 2000 with a whole new front end. New engine, new transmission, everything. We hit a deer and they totaled it out, so we tried to sell it, but no one would give us anything for it.
Oh. Huh. I can't imagine anyone would give me anything for this thing. (insert aforementioned stories about mileage and general rustiness here)
Welp, don't want to take up your time, thanks for telling me about the car.
You're welcome?
I felt, for just a moment, like I was driving a some pristine classic car. What year is that? What do you have under the hood? Those aren't questions you ask about a car like mine, unless of course you are THAT guy.
THAT guy saw a shared experience. He saw a shared value, a shared interest.
Sure, we were talking about a rusty old car with no real value, but he saw something I think we all miss when we are assigning value. It isn't always about what looks the nicest or runs the smoothest. It isn't always about what's new and undamaged. The value we automatically assign is very often wrong. This goes for how we view people, churches, and lives.
We need to be careful about placing price tags, about assigning value. I won't be giving up my Explorer any time soon, probably not until it actually falls apart, because I know more than what the ticket price can tell.
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