5 Stupid Reasons I Resisted Having A Catholic Radio Bumper Sticker on My Car

I heart Catholic radio.  I need it.  I pine for it.  I crave it like it's pure audio mocha (which is probably the closest thing I’m going to get to a real mocha from they-who-shall-not-be-named for a very long time.)

So why did I resist affixing a Catholic radio sticker to my car for so long?

Stupid, stupid, stupid reasons, which nevertheless, effectively stopped me from announcing my devotion to my beloved Immaculate Heart Radio to everyone on the road.

Someone, anyone, please tell me that you can relate and that I am not alone:

1. A bias against bumper stickers in general.

Bumper stickers are reductionism at its most grotesque.  Some egotistical blowhard’s attempt to bludgeon other drivers with their own beliefs. I felt this way even before Catholic radio came to town.

You see, I live in the Bay Area.  As I describe it to people out of state: near San Francisco (where the Church is really popular) Berkeley (where shoes and shaving are illegal) and Santa Cruz (which has outlawed taking showers, but their awesome mountain bikes kind of make up for this). So you can imagine how many times I have had to swallow my own upchuck when I've come across “I Voted for Kerry” “Coexist” "Go Vegan" and “Arms are for Hugging” (get it?).

People put this on their car.

To be asked to be another bumper sticker out there, even though I heartily believe in the mission of Catholic radio, still feels like someone is asking me to wear a garment made out of tie-dyed tree bark that my kids have finger painted all over.

And yet, I admit, that every time a car with a Catholic radio sticker passes me on the road, I actually do become hopeful knowing that someone out there shares my Catholic values (which, I guess, would be the antithesis of the ones I just mentioned… “not Kerry,” “Divide and Conquer,” "Steak..."and “Hug my leeettle friend, Mutha…”).

In other words, I’m genuinely encouraged when I see one.  How great is that?  And how silly is it that I resisted doing the same for others for so long?

2 - 4. I would feel guilted into obeying the rules of the road, driving politely, and I would cause scandal to others and the Church if I failed to do so.

I reasoned that having a Catholic radio sticker on my car would be the automobile equivalent to having one of those Jesus portraits where the eyes follow you.  I would feel it staring at me. All of the time. The bumper sticker, that is.  

It would also 'ping' God every time I drove slightly above the limit in school zones and didn’t make complete stops at stop signs.  And each time, my status in heaven would decrease half a wrung (though I doubt its ever been higher than ‘maintenance staff’ anyway).  You get it – I would feel so stressed at the very thought of driving and being good at the same time that I wouldn't make it out of the house.

Which was also the basis for my third reservation: I’d have to be a polite driver all of the time.  Right now you're thinking, "But, aren't you supposed to be this way anyway?"  To which I say, "Yes.  But have you ever driven in California?"  ( I confess that this is my usual rationale for forgoing traffic etiquette).  

Should I dare creep up close behind a slowpoke (i.e. impolitely pressure the slug in front of me to actually drive the speed limit), I could just imagine the other drivers sniggering when they saw that it was a Catholic radio listener doing so. “Oh, so that’s how a Catholic drives?”   “Looks like the Immaculate Heart really hasn’t done that gal any good,” “Ghandi was right about Christians,” etc. But if they didn't know which station I listened to, I didn’t have to worry about all of this, you see?

And this fed into my fourth reason for not displaying a Catholic radio a bumper sticker. “What if I do get pulled over?" I worried, "What will people think of me?  What will they think of the Church?”  Better not risk giving scandal to anyone which meant no bumper sticker, of course.  What a chicken.

And here’s my stupidest one of all:

5.) I don’t want the other van driving, homeschooling moms to think I’m trying to fit in. 

Because my massive van, the homeschooling cooperative, the NFP and meeting up with them at daily mass once a week doesn't already make my affiliations obvious.  Pathetic, I know. 

In short, all of my stupid reasons were mostly concerns for my image.  Dear reader, can you ever forgive me?   Immaculate Heart Radio, can you?

I promise the bumper sticker is there now! I promise to make a good pledge this spring (oh wait, is that already over with?) And I promise that I will try to drive more like a Catholic Radio listener should: with the Chaplet of Divine Mercy blaring at red lights, and in the background in drive throughs...

Hey, this gave me an idea!  The Theology of Laundry is now launching its own bumper sticker!  Vote on which one is the best (or worst):

#1 The Theology of Laundry: Because God’s Mercy has a Rinse Cycle!

Or

#2 God <3s Laundry Piles: Read The Theology of Laundry

Or

#3 The Theology of Laundry: WWJD? Fold the Laundry (Jn 20: 6-7)! U Shud 2! 

 (Too much?)

Perspective: Adjusted! A Palm Sunday Reflection

I’ve inherited a van. A piece of antiquated, grey scrap metal heaped and smelted together testifying to the latest van engineering marvels of the late 1980s and early 1990s. What tree rings or layers of rock sediment teach of the passage of time, she does in rust and rattle. I don’t believe in certain types of evolution but I’m pretty sure that in another 50 years she will be a mushroom.

But don’t make fun of my moving mountain on wheels yet! You might see her in a different light by the end of this post (just don’t use the unflattering overhead light, mind you, because she is sensitive).

When I gave up working to stay home we sold a car. After dreary months of houseboundliness with relatives rushing to save the kids and I from perpetual cabin fever, my grandmother generously volunteered the van of my childhood - the van that held Grampa at the helm and my sister and I stretching out or sleeping on the back seat during many Reno-bound journeys. Yes, it even went through snow at one time.

Despite her dilapidated state, the desperation made manifest in the expression, “At least it’s a car,” was keenly tangible to me after months of a cloistered home existence, so I accepted. And so the kids and I literally climbed aboard and have been making the most of our metal sloth for about six months now. Though it has never been quite what I would characterize as glorious, we still are greatly relieved and indebted to our grey tank just to be moving again!

“How many miles does this thing get?” My husband asked me on one of the rare occasions he was riding with us in the van. “Oh, I’m sure at least 5,” I answered proudly as we guzzled gas on our way to Palm Sunday Mass.

Palm Sunday: the day Jesus rode a donkey. I felt a sudden affinity with our Lord in that moment.

But Christ’s donkey never had anything on my donkey in the way of inconvenience. Sure, one is exposed to the elements on the back of a humble burro, but guess what? So are they if they ride in mine! Yes, when it rains outside my van, it rains inside as well. This is because the seals around the doors have gone and so there is nothing to stop the elements from seeping in.

But despite her beat-up, rattling frame, she is a special vehicle, especially in how each of her doors require special treatment for closing securely. The same can be said for her special seating: on one seat you can recline, another, you can’t sit straight, and one is normal.

She does have electric capabilities that still function and not just in the nice electric shock that waits for you every time you get in and out. Mercifully, she does have central locking and electric windows which make up for the lack of air conditioning output.

Most of the backseat curtains are gone probably due to the abuse we gave them as kids, and the blinds (you heard me right, window blinds) somewhat obstruct my vision. Potentially dangerous, right? But don’t worry, this is compensated for by her slow driving (really, lurching) which allows time for myself or some poor unsuspecting small to midsized car to swerve.

But the radio does work which is essential for every Immaculate Heart Radio listening mom, and one does get a nice arm workout from steering that bus-sized wheel. Also, being an oversized, conversion-top van, I can actually stand up straight in it if I need to.

But the bonus is this: the kids LOVE it. I LOVED it especially when I was a kid.

The other day this was crystallized for me when a friend’s children poked their heads into my van. I half expected them to make fun, but they didn’t. Instead, they turned to their mom with the brightest expressions on their faces and proclaimed, “This is luxury!” over and over again. It was contagious! I began to beam. Luxury? They thought my van was luxurious (and their family has a nice new minivan)!

I am indebted to those sweet kids because in that moment my perspective was adjusted, dramatically so. Or at least as re-adjusted as my wing mirror often needs to be since it slowly shifts out of place as I drive.

I am still so grateful.

Donkey? Metal van? Humility instilled in its rider? Excitement of children. Palms waving in the air outside of Jerusalem. My family safe and secure as we lurch through Santa Clara. What could be better?

And so I for all my wishing someone would mercifully steal my van and sell it for parts, and all my longing to buy something new, I’ll keep it and enjoy feeling like its spoiling me…and not just spoiling. It does get me from point A to point B which is the function of a vehicle, right? And how many others come complete with a chamber pot and TP for those kiddie emergencies on the go? Not many. But my luxury van does.