Pastor 4Runner

I like to think of my 4Runner as a pastor. Here’s how I met her:

There I was, surrounded by sharks. No, worse: used car salesmen. I had no clue what I was doing, and they knew it.

Natural light streamed in through the big windows into the shop with the Target furniture, but don’t let that fool you—this was a place where light and dreams went to die.

I had my eyes on an '06 4Runner. I’d never bought a used car, but Dave Ramsey had terrorized me, and this one was in our budget if I could haggle. But I’m as useful in a haggling situation as Canadian money.

Surely the man behind the desk knew he had a donkey of a negotiator in front of him. Yet when he offered me more than I thought for the Impala I was trading in, I sprang for it, and we made a deal.

I drove off the lot in the 4Runner and immediately went to Cookout for a milkshake because buyer’s remorse, the sales tax, and the dealership fee set in, and I still had a car payment on a 15-year-old car (I’m so sorry, Dave). And they’d talked me into the warranty.

“Mistake. Mistake. Mistake. What are you doing, dude? You’re about to be a dad. You can’t be making stupid decisions like this. You’re putting your family in jeopardy.”

“Dear God, why did I buy that warranty?”

The next day, I was driving on the interstate, and the car started to vibrate.

That’s not good. I’ve watched enough NASCAR to know a vibration is bad.

I drove straight to a dealership, and they said something in car speak to the tune of a couple thousand bucks.

“This isn’t covered by your warranty,” Robert from the Toyota dealership took off his glasses and said. “You might want to call whoever you bought it from and see if they’d help out.”

Lesson #1: Confrontation. I despise it. I would rather try skinny-dipping with cottonmouths than verbally confront someone.

After steeling my courage for 3 days, I dialed — heart pounding, face sweating onto the phone screen, I might have been shaking. The man at the dealership was super nice about it and called the warranty company, who offered to pay for half of the fix, saving me over a thousand bucks.

A few days later, I pulled the car into my garage and realized I was too far forward because I wasn’t even with the shelf. I put the car in reverse, nothing happened. The shifter moved, but the car stayed in neutral no matter what I did.

That’s not good.

Lesson #2: Providential Humor. The warranty covered a tow out of the garage by a nice man named TJ from the Africa Motor Company. At the Toyota dealership they fixed the problem which was also covered by the warranty.

All said and done, I saved as much money as I’d put into the warranty. Surely God likes to have a laugh.

A few weeks later, I was driving, and the check engine light came on.

That’s not good.

I called my friend Travis and told him I was done. I’m selling the car. My nerves are shot. This car is ruining my life. Travis told me to take it to Advanced and have them run a scan to see what was up.

Kevin, the mildly graying man in the gray shorts at Advanced, told me it was probably the downstream oxygen sensor. That sounded like thousands of bucks to me.

“I’d change your O2 sensors and see if the light goes off. If it doesn’t, it could be the catalytic converter.”

“Is that something from Star Wars?” I didn’t say that. I wish I had.

“You can change an O2 sensor. That’s not something worth selling it for,” Travis said in a text.

The most work I’ve ever done on a car is putting gas in it.

“I’m going to sell it.”

“Do what you want. But you can change an O2 sensor.”

Lesson #3: Capability. I found the part on Amazon from a link in a helpful YouTube video made by 4Runner Roy. I went to Home Depot and got one wrench and one socket: the exact ones I needed, according to 4Runner Roy.

I slid under the car, and the O2 sensor was right where 4Runner Roy had said it would be. I grabbed the wrench; the socket fit just like 4Runner Roy said it would.

And the bolt would not turn. This was not what 4Runner Roy said would happen.

I put every inch of strength I had into turning that bolt, and finally, it budged!

I had partially stripped the bolt.

The next 20 minutes of my evening were spent under that car with the side panel in my belly, debating if I should keep trying or fearing I’d strip it more.

My wife finally convinced me to quit. The next morning, everything was sitting on the garage floor, reminding me of my failure.

But 4Runner Roy had something to say about that! There’s something called “Penetrant” for rusty bolts!

I bought some from Kevin at Advanced, sprayed it like 4Runner Roy said, and the bolt still wouldn’t budge. I stripped it even more and now my hands were covered in greasy penetrant.

I tried one last time with all my might, and the whole socket slid off the now very stripped bolt.

I said a bad word.

Lying there in the grease and sweat the obvious hit me two days late: I’m lying upside down.

I put the socket back on the bolt and turned the other way. It popped free, dropping the O2 sensor into my greasy hand.

I was far too happy to be mad. I installed the other one, wiped my hands together, and threw a towel over my shoulder like a real mechanic.

The next day, the check engine light went off and it hasn’t come on since.

Something about changing an O2 sensor made me feel like I could do more than I thought. Not everything, mind you. But more. Not confident — mildly capable.

A few weeks later, I changed my own oil, topped off my fluids, and even changed the light bulb above the tail light (thanks for not giving me a ticket, Officer Nate).

I’m learning there are more things in life that are like changing an O2 sensor than aren’t. And yeah, I should probably have sold the car. It’s had more problems than a math test. But I just couldn’t let it go. She’s taught me too much.

That’s why I call her my pastor.