This week has been nothing short of draining. Two weeks ago, my car (the beloved Mint Bomber) was totalled, so I got to spend this week dealing with insurance companies, rental agencies, and of course, the process of buying a new vehicle. Unfortunately, I have two things working against me.

First of all, I have no real, practical knowledge when it comes to cars. I know bits and pieces, enough to have a basic conversation, but I’m a complete ignoramus when it comes to more technical issues. Therefore, I don’t have much ground on which to stand when it comes to dealing with used car salesmen. Secondly, I hate confrontation, haggling, being rude, etc. I’ll easily pay a little more for the sake of convenience, if it means that I’ll get to avoid any confrontation. Of course, that sort of puts me at a disadvantage when it comes to buying a used car (not to mention call into question my masculinity).

Thankfully, none of the salesmen I talked to were your steterotypical slimy type of guys. In fact, the guy I ended up buying from was an old friend of mine, which really helped out in the process. But even so, it’s been a long, trying week. But it’s over.

After I left work, I was driving home in my brand spankin’ new car, surrounded by that special new scent, listening to Daniel Lanois’ Shine (my new favorite album). I found myself singing along to the title track, singing “In the end the thing that keeps me walking is your shine/Your shine in transmissions, your shine in decisions/Your shine when I labor to the new day.” And I found myself beginning to tear up.

I know that buying a new car ranks right near the bottom on the list of this world’s critical tasks. It’s our culture, our sense of materialism, that elevates it to such a high degree of importance. It’s important, but not that important. And yet, this week, it became too important. I found myself fretting, late at night, if I was making the right decision, if I was using my money wisely, if I should be signing away the next 5 years to pay off a car loan (a necessary evil these days, it seems).

But as I drove down the highway, singing along to Lanois, none of that mattered. I don’t need to worry about that sort of stuff. I mean, I do, but not like that. That’s just another way that the world gets to you, squeezing in around you until it squeezes out your ability to recognize things that really do matter, to recognize the “shine.”

In retrospect, singing those lyrics in my brand new ride was probably the first time of honest worship I’ve experienced in months.

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