
Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust destroys, and where thieves do not break in or steal; for where your treasure is, there your heart will be also. (Matthew 6:19-21)
Dad Taylor had a disconcertingly dismissive attitude towards cars. They were vehicles for transport--only.
My Dad, on other other hand, approached them with a slight touch of the romanticism typical of American culture. This meant that when Bayly cars approached 100,000 miles, we could expect a new car in the driveway, soon. Nothing snazzy, yet Dad took delight in each of them. Most memorable for me was the 1967 VW Bug Dad bought new that went from him to my older sister, Deborah; then finally to me. When he brought it home from the dealer, Dad was proud of that car. I don't think he ever said it was cute but that was the feeling you got as you watched the proprietary sparkle in his eyes. It was red and had a sun roof.
But Dad Taylor had a completely utilitarian philosophy of transportation. The way he figured it, a car was a deal if you put $1,000 or less into it each year. So budget the $1,000 and you're done with the business. This meant that a car with 150,000 miles on it that took less than $1,000 a year to keep running was a bargain no matter what it looked like. Until the last year or two, Dad drove a very old--what, Buick or Chevy?--that looked like it had sat in the desert for ten years and then been resurrected.
And Mom? She drove Honda Civics for the last fifteen years or so, and when the first one was passed down to a grandson it was no plum of a gift. It had been well used and still is--my son, Joseph, now drives it and you see the picture of it above. Granted, it didn't look quite that bad when Mom first gave it to Chris, but it was well on its way.
Mom and Dad never gave in to materialistic idolatry, not even in the cars they drove. Thoughts of a car suited to their station in life never entered their brains, so far as I know. Back in the eighties, one of Dad's executives bought a Mercedes and parked it in the Tyndale House parking lot each day, often quite near Dad's latest jalopy. It might be that ten years of seeing that Mercedes gave Dad an idea he'd like one too. So in the late eighties or early nineties Dad went out and bought a brand spanking new Mercedes Benz. The next day he returned the car to the dealer and nothing more was ever said about it (other than something about it not having enough acceleration).
No wonder, then, that Dad and Mom supported so much of the Lord's work around the world. Completely unpretentious yet never miserly, they were extravagant only in giving to the Lord and they disciplined whatever desires they had. Dad returned the Mercedes Benz.
So far as I know it was the only new car he ever owned.