My Dodge

It wasn't a Chrysler or a Plymouth,
a horsey or a frog.
It wasn't a Ford or a Buick -
it was just a plain old Dodge.

I zoomed down the highway at thirty-five
whenever I floored the gas.
Some people thought I was a slowpoke,
but to me that was real fast.

My Dodge was old and rusty -
I had it painted twice.
The trunk was gross and stinky
because of all the mice.

It used to have four tires,
but then there were only three.
Now it looked a bit lopsided,
but it felt just fine to me.

I wanted to drive to Utah
in my ugly, plain old Dodge,
but my poor sad-looking car
never made it passed the garage.

I took it to a mechanic once,
he said there was no hope.
I left my Dodge there anyway -
and I went and got a Coke.

Three weeks later I returned
not knowing how surprised I'd be.
For there sat a cherry red Ferrari -
and joy! It belonged to me!

That jolly old mechanic
had torn my Dodge apart,
he'd stripped it down to the engine
and gave it a brand new start.

Now as I cruise in my Ferrari,
I often hear people say,
"Weren't you driving an ugly, old Dodge,
just the other day?"

So quietly I explain to them
how the mechanic changed my Dodge
in the same way a heart can be changed
by the One and Only God.

My Dodge was covered with dirt
the way sin can cover a heart.
God is like the old mechanic
and gives us a brand new start.

And if you go to God today,
I'm certain that you'll find
that soon your heart will be clean again
if you leave the sin behind.

So when you pray, just remember
my ugly, plain old Dodge
and that shiny, new red Ferrari
sitting in my garage.