That Old Van I bought

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They refused to budge for a look see when I got out. I walked over to the car and looked in. It was clean inside, but that was the best that could be said for it. With shoulders shrugging helplessly for my family's sake I went on into the fenced in compound.

It was a bad day for buying anything. There was a line of buyers about twenty people long. I got in the line with nothing in my hand, of course. Up ahead, in the sales window I saw a big, growling sort of man glancing at me occasionally. He was the boss, obviously. I grinned. Of course there was nothing in my hand as I was there to buy a car. Right?

There was four hundred dollars in my pocket, all I could drag together to get a car with. It was a pitiful amount, but then, that was why I had come to a junk yard to buy a car. A friend of mine who had bought two cars there had told me that sometimes cars could be found for sale there. So we had prayed before we came that the Lord would have a car there for sale when we got there. And I was grinning because the Lord had pointed out THAT car to me just as soon as we arrived.

No wonder I was grinning.
No wonder I was calm,
assured,
poised
and -- Let's see, did I mention confident?

Then The Balloon Burst

When I finally got to the window Mr. Hairy (as I shall call him) stared at me so hard it was almost a glower. But I was still smiling because I was so full of confidence. "I have come to buy a car," I told him.

"I don't have any cars for sale," he snapped.

"What?" I asked, my grin fading as the bubble of confidence burst.

"Next," he explained, with dark eyes raking me out of the way. I thought for a moment that I had stumbled. Then I saw that I had simply been shouldered out of the way by the man behind me. He began dickering over the price of a generator with Mr. Hairy. I tried to push my way back in front of the window but two glares met me, and I subsided weakly.

Weak I was as I came back to the car and slid behind the steering wheel. "He doesn't have a car for sale," I told my family. Gwen, as I shall call her because I don't want her confused with the wonderful wife I have now, laughed wholeheartedly. "Does that mean the Lord didn't really tell you anything?"

My head jerked around in wonder. It always amazed me that Gwen had been through the same experiences that had built my faith so strong, and all she had found was a friendly church, personal doubts and something to laugh about. But neither could I deny that the guy inside the wrecking yard had said there was no car for sale, so the question for me to answer was: "Who had told me that van was for sale?" Well, the answer came back firm and sure. The Lord had told me.

You can't argue with confirmation as sure as that. Without a word I got out of the car and went back inside the compound. Mr. Hairy saw me before I had moved up three spaces in the long line of customers. He glared at me. I stared firmly back. He glanced at my hands. There was nothing in them of course as I was there to buy a car. There was no smile on my face any longer, but the Lord had told me that van was for sale and I was there to get it. It was a long line and a long wait but my resolution grew firmer instead of weakening as I inched forward.

This time Mr. Hairy spoke to me as soon as I appeared in front of him. "Yes?" he barked. His rough tone was just begging the whole world to ask him how his day was going.

"I have come to buy a car," I told him.

He glared at me, expecting me to shrivel before his gaze. I did not shrivel. "I have driven eighty miles to get here just so I could buy a car from you."

He glared at me again. I fancied I could see smoke spurting from his nostrils. Somehow he clamped down on his temper. Almost mildly he said, "I really don't have any cars for sale. Next."

Bewildered beyond belief I let myself be shouldered out of the way again. Very despondently I made my way back to the car and stood there with my head hanging weakly.

"No car?" my Gwen asked sweetly.

"No car," I admitted. IF she had asked me how my day was going I think I would have burst into tears. She didn't ask and so I kept my upper lip almost stiff.

My shoulders had bunched up, ready to move, ready to admit defeat and get into the car so we could drive home when her twittering rejoinder struck a glancing blow on my ears... and my ego. "Maybe the Lord just hasn't told him he has a car for sale yet."

The whole family laughed, every one of them.

It was too much. Back into the compound I went. Back in line I went. Inch by inch I went forward again. Mr. Hairy saw me at once. He was fuming. He was snorting. He was hopping mad at everyone that got between us. He wanted me back in front of him so he could shred me to pieces with his tongue. But I marched forward resolutely. I knew he had a car for sale, the Lord had told me so. What explanation could there be except that Mr. Hairy was not the owner of the junkyard. The owner had a car, but Mr. Hairy did not know about it. That was the only answer possible and I clung to that possibility like a strong man plowing into a fierce gale. When I got to the window at last Mr. Hairy leaned out so his words could lash me the better.

"I don't have a car for sale!"

I looked past him into the darkened interior. "I know you do have a car for sale. Is the boss here?"

Oh, if I had tried to tickle him beneath his chin I could not have made Mr. Hairy any angrier. His huge hands reached out to grab the window sill as if he were reaching out to grab my neck instead. His knuckles blanched white with the effort to constrain himself from killing me.

I, I am the owner. I...do...not...have...a...car...for...sale." He struggled to regulate his breath. "Is that clear?"

There was no one trying to shoulder me out of the way. Indeed, I suddenly noticed that there was a distinct distance between me and the next man in line. As I glanced at that man he shrank back even farther. A nod I gave to Mr. Hairy and I moved off out of the line. How much clearer could you get? There was no car for sale there. Hopelessly defeated I made my way to the gate leading out of the compound.

Just as I came around the corner I glanced ahead. The whole family was looking for me, and as I stopped they saw me. They weren't just laughing at me when they pointed my way, they were GUFFAWING.

I stopped in my tracks and glanced back towards Mr. Hairy. There was no car for sale here. That was a fact.

So, who had told me the van was for sale?

Was it just wishful thinking?

WHO had told me the van was for sale?

Very earnestly I asked myself that question two times. Both times the answer came back.. . The Lord had told me.

We had been in the Church for over four years and I had been confused many times by "feelings" and "impressions" in response to my questions and prayers. But anytime I actually heard the voice of the Lord, what HE said had never been wrong.

How could he be wrong this time, I wondered. And the obvious answer came back. He couldn't. I knew it just as surely as I knew I was living. God could not be wrong.

Therefore there WAS a car here for sale. I looked at the van and for the third time in three minutes I asked God if he had told me it was for sale. I was not tempting the Lord to give me another answer, I wanted to know if it was HIS voice I was hearing. The answer came back, as clear as ever.

"That van is for sale. It is the car I have here waiting here for you."

Just like Nephi of old I acted instantly. Head up and shoulders back, I marched back into the compound and got into line. Mr. Hairy's eyes bulged when he saw me. He could NOT believe it. I could not blame him for that. My presence in that line for the fourth time was too much for anyone to believe. I fancied that I could see his mind mulling over the question of whether to call the law or not to deal with this obviously insane man coming his way again, inch by inch.

They say there are two sides to every story; intellectually I could appreciate Mr. Hairy's side much easier than I could mine. But spiritually I knew that this time I would come out the victor.

The firmness of my steps seemed to calm him as I inched towards Mr. Hairy. When at last I stood before him he looked up almost patiently, but said nothing, waiting for me to explain myself, if there was any way that I could. "You have a car for sale," I told him. He denied it with a sad shake of his head.

I paused for the Lord to act in my behalf.

The Lord did not stir.

Mr. Hairy did not move either.

His eyes never left my face.

He was wondering what I would do next. I was too. I studied his eyes and saw no sign of wavering. I wavered, but then I swung back.

"There is a gray -- Ford -- Econoline -- van out there in the parking lot. I know -- just as sure as I know anything in this world -- I KNOW that van is for sale."

Mr. Hairy was as stunned as if I had knocked all his breath out of him. His mouth dropped open, then he snapped his teeth closed and again his eyes spurted righteous fire. "Yes, well, it may be for sale, maybe next week, if I can find another mechanic before then to fix it."

THERE. I'd done it. Not only was there a car for sale, THAT van was for sale. My judgment was vindicated. However, next week was a long time off, and more importantly I did not have any desire to go back to greet my family without the van title in my hand.

"What is wrong with it?" I asked.

His mind had already swung to dealing with the next buyer. His eyes came back to brush me off. "The clutch rod keeps falling off."

He was swinging back again to the next buyer already but my words stopped him in his tracks.

"My wife can fix that in three minutes."

His mouth dropped open. His eyes bulged as he stared at me. I am convinced that if I had said that I could fix it in three minutes that Mr. Hairy would have brushed me off without a second thought. But I had told him that my wife could fix it in three minutes. That was a different matter entirely. Mr. Hairy slammed the window shut and sixty seconds later he was standing beside me.

"Let's see her do it then," he challenged me.

He led the way and I had to hurry to keep up with him. He stopped short at the driver's door of the van and began going through his keys. I walked over to our borrowed car and leaned in.

"The clutch rod keeps falling off and I told him you could fix it in three minutes."

Gwen simply nodded and in a matter of seconds she was shinnied under the car on her back. As usual she looked like she belonged there. Mr. Hairy glanced her way, almost as if realizing already that his contempt would not win this game. Gwen stuck her head out from under the van. "Give me a pair of pliers and a piece of soft wire."

I found the tools for her and two minutes later Gwen was standing beside me again. "It's fixed."

Mr. Hairy could not believe it, or at least he pretended he could not. I suspect he already knew the piece was, indeed, FIXED. He got into the car and repeatedly slammed his heavy foot down on on the clutch pedal. The repair held. "Do you need a job?" he asked Gwen. "My mechanic quit on me this morning when I needed him most."

The battle to get our van wasn't over yet as we still had to negotiate Mr. Hairy down in price by a good three hundred dollars, but finally he did take every last cent we could scrape together as a family and we did drive our van home that day.

That old gray van served us well for more than two years, two long years of heavy home teaching, heavy visiting teaching, full loads of missionary work, and getting to Church two times on Sundays and once on Wednesdays. None of those trips were short either.

Every time I look back at all the service we got out of that poor old gray van the Lord picked out for us I wonder how long it would have been before we found a car we could have bought -- if I had not acted four times on my sure knowledge it was indeed the Lord's voice I heard speaking to me that day.

the end

That Old Van I Bought

Then The Balloon Burst

"I don't have a car for sale!"

That Old Van
I Bought