Driving to church today I looked in my rear-view mirror and saw a shiny, red, refurbished classic car coming up fast behind me.  I have no idea what it was, but it was obvious that it was considerably older than I was.  It was also obvious that the owner was very proud of it.  It was spotless.

I said to my wife, "Here comes a little Nash-Rambler that wants to pass me up."  I said that in reference to a clever song from my youth about a little Nash-Rambler and a Cadillac that were in an impromptu race that the Cadillac lost.

Sure enough, as soon as it was possible, the shiny, red, classic car passed me up.  In doing so, my memory clicked on.

My very first car was a little Nash-Rambler.  It was gold-colored.  I loved it.  My brother, Mac, bought it from me when I went away to the Navy, and it served him well for many years.

My little Nash-Rambler and I shared some very important experiences.  In fact, one of my very most sacred spiritual experiences took place in that car making it a temple in my memory.

First, though, I should mention that the little Nash-Rambler and I took a trip up into British Columbia before the start of my second year of college at Oregon State University.  I was very depressed, was dreading having to go back to school, and was dreaming of how perfect the life of a hermit could be in some backwoods spot in Canada.  The Nash-Rambler and I left on the trip not knowing whether I would come back or not.  If I somehow found utopia, I wouldn't have to return and face life.

British Columbia was beautiful, and being there was an adventure, but I didn't have to go far before I realized that my dream of being a backwoods hermit was stupid, unrealistic, and impossible.  It was a sad moment when I stopped the car, made that admission, and turned around to go back and face misery.

The little Nash-Rambler and I went back to college, enrolled, and became more miserable than ever.  I dropped all of my classes a month later.  The Nash-Rambler was witness to the beautiful October snowfall in the Cascades that I stopped to watch on the way home.  It was at that moment, and in that car, that I said the first prayer of my life.  Everything came tumbling out as I poured out my heart and my troubles.  The little Nash-Rambler heard every word of that out-loud, four-hour prayer.  The little Nash-Rambler was the only witness I have of the brilliant, never-dimming rainbow that preceded us across Oregon.

Possibly the little Nash-Rambler didn't hear the voice that I heard as we approached Unity Reservoir, but I heard it very plainly.  It said, "Everything is going to be all right."

The car and I came to an abrupt stop.  I was shaking.  The voice and the message were real.

Two weeks later the little Nash-Rambler and I were on the way to Utah for my first time.  Returning home we carried valuable cargo.  I had been given a Book of Mormon!  I knew that something was going to happen when I opened it.  I set it upright in the center of the desk in my bedroom and savored the moments and the feelings.  Two weeks later, when I opened the book, light came into my life.  The darkness and clouds cleared away, and I realized that I had a treasure in my hands.

My little Nash-Rambler was witness to three of my defining moments.  Until today I have never associated that car with thoughts of the temple, but for me it was just that.  Sacred, spiritually defining moments happen in the temple.  Some of my most sacred moments happened in that car.  That car was my first temple.