Runnin' on a Prayer

Let me tell you a little bit about my car.

You've heard some things already, but I'm going to give you a bit of background: My car is 19 years old. It belonged to my grandparents, then was used interchangeably by my siblings and cousins and myself before my Mom just bought the thing and let me use it for the past few years for school and work.

For such an old car, it's served me well. There have been a few odd repairs needed here and there, and the car definitely has its quirks, but it was more than usable and I've come to like it a great deal. I've even given it a name--Perseus, or Percy for short.

Back in May, however, trouble began.

Well, actually I suppose you can look back to February to see the seeds of ruin. Back in February, the engine started to short out randomly while I was driving. My dad, despite his skill as a former diesel mechanic, was unable to fix it and it ended up going to a shop for a couple of days.

That week, both of my parents got influenza. My dad got dehydrated and passed out while standing in the bathroom, breaking several ribs, and then got pneumonia. Being the caretaker of my sick parents, it wasn't a surprise to anyone when I got the flu myself a few days later. So February was a fun month for all parties. But, by the time the plague that swept through my house had ended, my car was fixed and back to normal.

When the check engine light came back on in May, I was concerned--but my car was still working just fine. I got the engine light checked out, and didn't understand a word of the results, but my Dad said it was probably a problem with the gas cap (which had been replaced during the February repairs by a generic gas cap.). I got a new gas cap from the dealer and then went on my merry way.

The engine light came back on, though.

Now Dad was worried about something involving a vacuum seal  (is it obvious that I don't know much about cars?) and did some repairs. The engine light stayed on.

When I was moving up to Idaho, I took my car and my parents took the minivan. When we stopped for gas, my Dad noticed something concerning--after I filled up on gas, gas was leaking from the bottom of my car. After a cursory examination (during which the leaking stop) he said to not fill the tank up quite all the way and to regularly check to see if it got any worse. He'd do a more thorough investigation next time I visited home.


And everything went smoothly, despite the continuous presence of the check engine light, until a couple of weeks ago. On my way to an appointment with a client living out in Eagle, Idaho, as I took my foot off of the break to enter a green-lit intersection, my engine shuddered and my car came to a stop.

I tried to restart the engine, but still the engine sounded like it was struggling and my car wouldn't move. Cars behind me were starting to honk. Quickly I said a prayer, asking Heavenly Father to help me get safely to and from this appointment, whatever else I had to manage in the future. I didn't know anyone who could pick me up or come to my rescue if I was stranded up here, so far from the mechanical expertise of my father and brother-in-law, and this was too far from my apartment to walk.

After finishing my prayer, I started the engine one more time. This time, it roared to life, and I was able to continue driving without incident. In fact, for the rest of the week and the coming weeks, my car didn't have any obvious problems at all, other than a bit of sluggishness when I first ignited the engine. Still, I told my Dad about what had happened, and he planned to take a look when I next visited home for the fourth of July weekend. He said it sounded like something was wrong with the gas tank, so he advised me to try to arrive in Salt Lake with a quarter tank of gas so that he'd have an easier time taking my car apart.


So, on Saturday, July 2nd, I packed my overnight bag and headed out to spend a nice weekend at home with my family and hopefully get the needed repairs on my car. I had no doubt that my temporary lack of problems was due to some divine intervention in response to my prayer, so I still tried to be cautious and pay close attention to what the engine was doing as I hit the road.

The trouble started as I passed through the small town of Eden, Idaho. I'd been speeding along with my car on cruise control when I noticed the sound of the engine getting louder and faster. I looked to see a dial that I think is called a tachymeter (maybe?) heading into the red section that means the engine is working too hard. I tapped the breaks and the engine calmed back down--but every time I touched the gas the engine would speed up again and the car would only continue to slow down. I ended up coasting down the exit ramp and parking in the closest parking spot I could find.

Back in February when I'd had car problems, the car would work again after a bit of a break. So I turned the engine off and took a second to check my map. Then I started the car again--and, success. I pulled back onto the freeway and continued on my merry way.

Until I had to slow down suddenly upon entering some road construction near Burley, ID. As I hit the breaks, the engine began to chug like a 5k runner attempting a marathon, and again every attempt at pressing the gas only led to the engine speeding up again.

(If and when Dad reads this, he will probably wince at my inaccurate descriptions of what was happening, but I'm calling it the way I saw it at the time).

I coasted onto the next exit ramp, where my car stopped entirely in the middle of the road. I gave it a minute then restarted it--nothing. Except, I heard a grinding sound and smelled something burning. Opening up my windows, I realized that it was my engine making that terrible sound, even though the ignition was off.

Now getting very worried, I tried calling my parents. But it turns out that they were still on their fishing trip, and so didn't answer the phone. I waved some cars to go around after they lined up behind me, then sat in growing anxiety. If I were closer to the Utah border I could maybe call on my sister to come give me a lift or give my parents a chance to come get me. But this far away, I wasn't sure I could do anything but call a tow truck. I've never done that before, but I've heard it's expensive, and as I frequently mention--I'm about broke. Not to mention, would a tow truck get me as far as home or just take me back to Boise where no one I knew could fix my car?

I looked out at the cornfield next to where I had stalled, then I said a prayer. I expressed gratitude that I'd been helped so much already, but I didn't know what to do now. I asked if I could be helped a little further, at least until I was close enough to home that my parents could potentially come and get me after their fishing trip was over.

I turned the key again, and the engine roared to life.

The rest of the trip was long and boring. It seemed like the engine worked best at a consistent speed, so I chose one that I wouldn't have to change for the rest of the trip-- twenty miles per hour slower than the current speed limit. It was agonizing driving so slowly when I knew it would add two hours to an already overlong trip, but I wanted to be cautious and not push this miracle engine too far. The engine gave me trouble a few more times, but each time I was able to pull over, wait a minute, then restart the engine and get back on the road.

It's a good thing that I made it all the way home myself because my parents had some issues with the boat and didn't make it home until an hour after I did. That evening, as I related my experiences, Dad grew concerned. He said that it sounded like there might be something catastrophically wrong with my transmission.

Catastrophic is a very descriptive word. It is not a word you like to hear in reference to your car unless someone is saying your ride is "catastrophically awesome." But I don't think anyone actually says that.

Well, early on Monday morning (July 4th), Dad came and knocked on my bedroom door, waking me up. He told me, "You need to get your knees and thank Heavenly Father that you made it here safely because that should not have been possible."

Now, I know absolutely nothing about car engines, so I'm going to let Eric The Car Guy tell you about something called a Torque Converter. According to my Dad, he got most of it right except for talking about the stator.

The short version--the thing he called a "pump", that gear looking thing--that's what was broken. As a matter of fact, that grinding sound I heard when I turned the engine off back in Burley was the pump tearing itself into shreds. Also, that lubricant fluid you can see in the video is kind of red--mine was black and smelled burnt. My Dad helpfully translated these facts into layman-speak by telling me the following: "These are bad signs. I don't know how you got that car started again."

The damaged parts are too expensive to replace in a 19-year-old car, so we really didn't have much choice but to spend our Fourth of July car shopping.

Although I came along for my ride, my parents were the ones paying for this and so they were the ones making all of the choices. We were helped by a very kind older gentleman who has this awesome conspiracy theory that ever since they started using the hadron collider, lines in books printed years and years ago have been changing. He gave some examples from the Bible. The whole thing was as nutty as a fruitcake, and he mostly cornered my Dad with it, leaving Mom and I free to giggle over Dad's "I-am-too-polite-to-tell-you-that-you-are-insane-and-I-don't-know-how-to-escape-this-conversation" tone of voice.

Anyway, we got a used car, and I don't even want to think about how all we're paying for it (this is actually the first time my parents have ever taken out a loan to pay for a car) and sold poor old Percy for a grand total of $300 so that it can get converted to scrap.

Goodbye, Percy. :(

While I was sad to see the old car go, I couldn't help but be pleased with the car my parents decided on:

Meet my new car, Sheila. So. Shiny.

No, they do not let you keep the ribbon. As soon as they give you the keys, the ribbon goes into a big Tupperware of them on the side of the room.

Sheila runs very differently from my previous car. Percy was, to be quite frank, a boat. That car made wide turns and skimmed over bumps like they weren't even there. Sheila makes tighter turns, which makes parking much easier. My new car also lets me feel every single bump in the road and shakes if I'm driving slower than 30 mph. Pros and Cons, I guess.


Driving back up to Boise tonight was fairly uneventful, other than me taking a wrong turn and ending up in Idaho Falls. I wasn't too sad about the detour, though, since it gave me a chance to check out this:

To give you a sense of scale, that little blue speck in the river is a woman in a kayak. That slightly bigger white speck in the river is two guys in a canoe.

According to my roommate, who used to live in Idaho Falls, people come from all over the world to jump off this bridge with a parachute. Unfortunately, there's been a few known cases where the parachutes malfunctioned with fatal consequences. But I didn't see any such daredevils today, just some people enjoying the river below.


Anyway, this weekend was a little more eventful than I expected. But now I'm safe in Boise with reliable transportation, so I'm content.

Also, it really goes to show that God answers prayers in amazing ways. Getting my car to start felt like a small but wonderful miracle at the time. After seeing my car unable to move five feet without coming to a stop and after hearing my Dad's explanation of exactly what went wrong, I'm awestruck. I really shouldn't have been able to drive away from Burley. With the condition my car was in, it should have been physically impossible. I can't think of a better way to close out this entry than with Matthew 19:26.

But Jesus beheld them, and said unto them, With men this is impossible; but with God all things are possible.