Just over a month ago (3 April 2024) we were caught in a sudden deluge of rain as we left the Meridian Idaho Temple.  I could just barely see the yellow line to my left enabling me to keep my car in its lane.  I didn't dare stop or move to the side of the road or we'd have been hit by cars following us.

I was concentrating heavily on my position when I looked up and saw headlights coming right for us.  There was no avoiding a crash.  We met head on.  The air bags of neither car deployed, but both cars were obviously totaled.  Our wonderful Chrysler 200 was totaled.  We bought it new for $16,000 when we returned from our mission.  It was all paid for.  We'd been driving it for over eight years.  It had been driven over 130,000 miles, and I was proud of it for the mileage that it got.  On that 132-mile trip to the temple it had gotten 38 miles to the gallon.  It was a wonderful car, was in excellent shape, and was good for another eight years of service.

And suddenly it was totaled.

The 83-year-old driver of the other car apologetically exclaimed, "I didn't know where I was!"  In that deluge she wasn't to be blamed.  She was insured by State Farm Insurance, the same company that insured our car.  That would be good, I thought, but this company isn't going to give us anywhere near what we think our car is worth.  They're going to offer the very minimum that they can.

Son, Adam, said, "My insurance agent said to never accept the first offer."

Though we weren't hurting badly, son, Nathan, advised us to be checked by a doctor so that if problems developed later, our injuries could easily be tied to the accident.

For one month I waited to hear from the insurance adjuster.  I argued with him in my mind the whole time.  I laid awake at night thinking how I'd respond when given the offer of a $3,000 settlement.  I was going to hold out for $4,500, which was the highest value for that car that I was able to find in an online search.

I would point out to the adjuster that our car had been in pristine condition, that it was yet serviceable for many years to come, that a new car had cost us $25,500 which we didn't have and which we hadn't intended to spend, that we hadn't rented a car at State Farm's expense, and that we were injured and might yet be sending them big medical bills.  If they'd give us $4,500 now we'd accept it and handle the medical bills ourselves, otherwise we'd keep the case open and hold out for $4,500.

As I told son, Aaron, how I'd spent the month arguing with the insurance adjuster, his comment was, "You were borrowing a jack, weren't you!"

That brought me up short.  Indeed, I was.  I hadn't thought about that story in years.  It was a favorite story that my father loved to tell.

Driving late at night, way out in the country, a man had a flat tire.  When he got out to change it he discovered that he had no jack.  He remembered passing a farm house a few miles back.  His only option would be to make the long walk back to the farm house and borrow a jack.  As he began the hike, he thought about the hour.  The house would be dark when he got there.  The man would be in bed.  He'd be sound asleep.  The knock on the door would awaken him.  It would awaken his wife and all the kids, too.  The man would be mad.  He'd look out of the upstairs window and yell angrily about being awakened in the middle of the night by a total stranger.

As the distressed driver hiked along, he got madder and madder as he imagined the reception he was going to receive.  When he finally reached the farm house door he rapped as loudly as he could.  When it opened, the traveler shouted angrily at the sleepy farmer, "Just you keep your old jack!  I didn't want it anyway!" and turned back into the night.

The dreaded call finally came from the insurance adjuster.  He turned out to be a nice-sounding lady.  I set my jaw, listened politely to the dialog, calmly answered her questions, and assembled all of the well-rehearsed rebuttals in my mind.  Finally I heard her say, "Your car is totaled.  We're giving you $7,452 for the value of the car, plus $810 for what you would have spent for a car rental."

$8,262!  All the air went out of me.  I wilted.  I wasn't able to say anything other than "Thank you very much."

Atticus, in To Kill A Mockingbird, was always saying, "It isn't time to worry yet."

That's good advice, and a good thing to remember.  It's never time to worry.  Worry is just a circle of inefficient thought whirling about a fog.

A few days after the accident we purchased a new Toyota Corolla hybrid that averages over 50 miles to the gallon.  Driving around town we get as high as 99 miles per gallon.  We're spending half as much on gas as we did formerly.

One of our favorite hymns says, "Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take; The clouds ye so much dread, Are big with mercy and shall break In blessings on your head."  (God Moves in A Mysterious Way, Hymns, 285).

In actuality, the clouds we so much dread rarely break.

It isn't time to worry yet.  Don't work yourself into a lather.  Don't borrow a jack.