According to my husband Blackie was about the prettiest flat bed truck ever made.  Never mind that it was over thirty years old with a speedometer that never worked and turn signals that were sporadic at best.  The first time I asked if it would be possible to turn the heat on, he pulled over, raised the hood and connected something with a screwdriver.  When I found out the only way to turn it off was to repeat the process, I rolled down the window and froze! 

While Micheal could (and often did) list “her” many attributes and attractions, I found having to ride in that truck to be a humiliating experience!  Call me an old fashion snob but I really prefer to announce my arrival at someone’s home with a polite knock at the door rather than by an ear shattering noise from the driveway.  Not only that, it is embarrassing when the person next to you in a parking lot starts singing The Beverly Hillbillies as you attempt the exit “Black Beauty”!

On the other hand, that old truck had served us well.  It had been there through countless trips to the lumberyard and through several moves.  To be fair, I suppose people were happy to hear the rumble of that old truck when their cars were stuck in ditches, muddy fields, and snow banks. 

Blackie had been made to do a job and she had done just that – right up to the moment the gas tank developed a hole that couldn’t be patched!  She was there when the loads were too big, the roads were impassable, or the wind chill fell into the double digits.  And, yes, despite my snide remarks I understood why that old truck was such an important and beloved “member of the family.” 

In Psalms 46 we find these words:  God is our refuge and our strength, a very present help in times of trouble.  Come to think of it, our old Black Beauty stood as a reminder of that truth.