"Wrecked But Not Ruined"

“WRECKED, BUT NOT RUINED”

ROMANS 12:14: “Bless those who persecute you, bless and do not curse.”

My first real car was not a car at all. It was a truck. A 1967 G.M.C. pick-up truck. The first time I saw it I had feelings of disappointment and hopelessness. My brother-in-law made a statement that will stick with me for the rest of my life.......... “DON’T LOOK AT IT FOR WHAT IT IS NOW, BUT FOR WHAT IT CAN BECOME.” Over the next several months we turned that finger painted primer mobile to a “MEAN GREEN MUSIC MACHINE.”

When we finally finished the truck I enjoyed summer rides down Kirkwood Highway with my girlfriend, Susan (now my wife). We listened to the top 40 on my 8-track player relishing every moment as people at red lights stared at the fruit of my labor. There was just something about that old truck that made me feel good. In the morning, I couldn’t wait to drive it. On the weekends, I couldn’t wait to wash it; and when people would come close to it, I couldn’t stand to have them mess with it. It was finished, and it needed to be protected. I would guard it in a scrupulous fashion. I was going to preserve this machine, and I did everything I could to see that nothing would soil it’s fine design. But that was soon to change.

One fall day when the leaves were just beginning to come to their peak colors, I was driving down the back roads of Yorklyn, Pa.. My friend Ben and I were returning from a football game. The music was playing (I think it was James Taylor’s “Rock-a-bye Sweet Baby James”), and the weather was beautiful. THAT IS WHEN IT HAPPENED! As I was approaching the bottom of the hill and stopping for the intersection’s stop sign, some 16-year-old in his mother’s car was going too fast, hit his breaks, and skidded out of control into the left front corner panel of my “MEAN GREEN MUSIC MACHINE.” That was “THE DAY THE MUSIC DIED.”

I could hear the metal crunch and see the shattered glass go flying across the intersection as we felt the impact. My heart sank, and my temperature rose. As I went to open the door, it sounded like the back door on our shed out in the yard. CreeeeeK!!!!! And then there was the “POP!!!!!” of the metal corner panel unlocking itself from the passenger door. I actually had to kick it open. I checked on the driver of the other car. He was all right. I checked on Ben; he was fine. Time now to survey the damage. I CRIED. “REAL TEARS!” The truck was smashed. Ruined? No! Wrecked? Yes! It was then I learned a valuable lesson.

“NO MATTER HOW HARD YOU TRY, YOU’RE GOING TO GET BROADSIDED!” You can’t avoid it. You can’t block it out. Sometime, someplace, you will meet with someone’s child driver. They will loose control, and you will find yourself pushing open the door, finding out if everyone is O.K., and then staring at broken parts, shattered glass, cracked paint and a dream gone to demolition.

As I stood at that intersection waiting for the police to arrive, I was already making a decision. What should I do with the truck? This accident wasn’t my fault. I was just plain innocent. I was hit broadside, and my belief in restoration was facing the test of resiliency. What was I going to do? Determine it was a wreck to be restored, or a waste declared ruined? Restoration was hard, but it was right. To bless when you’ve been burnt isn’t easy.

“She has every reason to be bitter. Though talented, she went unrecognized for years. Prestigious opera circles closed their ranks when she tried to enter. American critics ignored her compelling voice. She was repeatedly rejected for parts for which she was easily qualified. It was only after she went to Europe and won the hearts of the tough to please European audiences, that stateside opinion leaders acknowledged her talent.

Not only has her professional life been a battle, but her personal life was also marked by challenge. She is the mother of two handicapped children, one of whom is severely retarded. Years ago, in order to escape the pace of New York City, she purchased a home on Martha’s Vineyard. It burned to the ground two days before she was to move in.”

Professional rejection. Personal setbacks. Perfect soil for seeds of bitterness. A receptive field for the roots of resentment. But in this case, anger knocked and found no one home.

Her friends don’t call her bitter, they call her “Bubbles.” Beverly Sills. Internationally acclaimed opera singer. Retired director of the New York City Opera.
Her phrases are sugared with laughter. Her face is softened with serenity. Upon interviewing her, Mike Wallace stated that “she is one of the most impressive--if not the most impressive--ladies I’ve ever interviewed.”

How can a person handle such professional rejection and personal trauma and still be known as Bubbles? “I choose to be cheerful,” she says. “Years ago I knew I had little or no choice about success, circumstances or even unhappiness; but I knew I could choose to be cheerful.”

Have you been broadsided or betrayed lately? Amidst the broken glass and tested career, will you be known as bitter or Bubbles?