Clean the Van

I have discovered that the van is the ultimate member of the car collection. In our family, before my wife or I leaves we ask, "Are you taking the car... or the VAN?" The van is the prize of the fleet, packing seats for the entire family, without exception. I once heard a mechanic affectionately refer to them as ‘kid haulers.’

Should you yourself come into possession of a kid hauler, you will learn that your young passengers feel differently about your vehicle than you do. They attend to it, how shall we say, to a fair degree less than you. Of course, their job is also different than yours: Sit in the back and entertain yourself. 

Oh, and they do.

At the end of June, we took a van trip to Colorado. We had a wonderful trip; worthy of a separate post once I’ve processed it all. A 16-17 hour van trip is not just a jaunt down the street. This is worthy of vehicle prep. Maintenance checks, mechanical repairs, and of course, cleaning it out.

As in, you have to go into the backseat.

"There are older and fouler things than Orcs in the deep places of the world". - Gandalf the Grey

He's so wise, that Gandalf fellow. He knows magic. And vans.

In our family, we have a rule when we arrive home. Take in your stuff. Backpacks, water bottles, shoes, etc. During school season, the van gets some serious seat time.

It takes effort to get out of the van. You have to tell your kids. You have to remind them. Sometimes you have to send them back out. Sometimes, you are doing it yourself. You get most of the stuff… But rarely all of it. And in a moment of weakness, after a longer trip, when you just want to be out of your vehicle...

It’s the ‘not all of it’ that has a way of festering to degrees seemingly impossible.

“This one is special to me. DO NOT THROW THIS AWAY.”

As you enter the back, it's pure madness. Fruit has become a petrified forest. Birds are nesting in their trees. Fries have shriveled up into small salt twigs, unable to decay, even if they wanted to. An entire bag of trail mix is in the seats, chocolate melted into the plastic. Stickers are stuck to all the things. There are bowls and spoons squirreled away in various cracks. At least 14 hair brushes. All of the missing toys. The wax packaging of Babybel cheese is carved into little people, shapes, and creatures. Paper art projects. LEGO dragon wings and hundreds of dollars in Bricklink value. Bionicles (look 'em up)—my children call them 'little guys'.

Sucker wrappers, gravel, and rocks. And sticks. Yes, literally just sticks with little strings and feathers attached, handcrafted, and absolutely, each one is unique and precious. 

There is also some kind of sludge at the bottom of the cup holder. You don’t know what it is now, and there is no way to tell what it was. It’s become something else entirely. A new lifeform. Unidentifiable; worthy of a Star Trek episode. Although I disagree with macroevolution, this gives me pause. I think I saw it move. Toothpicks have been stabbed in it.

Proof of our love of ice. This is an “ice bone.”

One time, my girls got rubber gloves (maybe from church? I don’t remember). They filled the gloves with water, tied them up, hung them from the backseat handles, hoping they would freeze. They did, and they played with ice fingers on the way to school. I am not inventing any of this.

Like. I know I ask them to bring stuff in. I don’t clean my house this way. Every parent I’ve spoken to who owns a van can relate to this. We glance in the back, but it’s never a priority. So the deeper you get into cleaning it, the worse it gets.

Breakthough

Oddly enough, this topic of vans came up twice in conversations, both in the span of a week. In both instances, neither situation had anything to do with vans. It had to do with a breakthrough.

The first occasion, I was told of a long-standing tension with a friend. Pain had festered in their heart. At long last, there was an opportunity for this person to totally bare their heart to their friend. Ugly, raw, and necessary. 

It came up again at my monthly men's group at our church. One of my peers was communicating a deep sense of frustration, feeling stuck in his relationship with the Lord. At long last, he started deep healing sessions with two counselor friends and is choosing to serve in another ministry as well. 

“I want to see change,” he articulated.

Both times, I shared with them the idea of the van. Each individual had had enough. Their specific situatuon had hit a breaking point. It’s not that we intend for things to get this way, but when it does, you can’t just spot clean. Nothing less than a powerwashing is getting it done.

I wrapped up reading the book of Acts earlier this month. There is so much the Lord has shown me over my time reading it that connected to it. I don’t think of myself as a writer, but I feel like there’s much I could say. The standout idea is still Paul’s conversion. It’s so radical. He’s hell bent on his mission, but Jesus stops him in his tracks; drops him on his face. Paul thinks he is righteous and clean, but his van, his heart, is woefully a mess.

Here's the good news. It's all about to change, and when all is said and done, nothing will be the same.

I cleaned my van. It sure did need it. Then I drove it to Colorado. I’ll tell you more about it next time.

Sketch from Colorado. This is an art blog after all.