A Hard Lesson

A couple of weeks ago, we loaded our 1970 AMX into a borrowed trailer and hooked up our faithful 1997 Ford to begin the long drive from Virginia to South Bend, Indiana, for the annual American Motor Organization car show. We had attended last year’s show in Greensboro, South Carolina, and to our complete shock, we received the Best Non‑Stock AMX 1968–1970 award. That little trophy changed everything. We had only toyed with the idea of attending the 2026 show, but winning made us feel like maybe — just maybe — we should give it a try.

The very next week, we began saving money and preparing in earnest. Mr. Green Bee spent countless hours repairing and cleaning the car, trying to make everything as close to perfect as possible. We had taken a few hits on the scoreboard last year and wanted to improve. When we learned we had been selected to compete in the Heritage Cup — a level of judging we never imagined we’d qualify for — the excitement grew even more.

As the day drew closer, we began searching for a trailer to borrow. The one we used last year wasn’t available, so we put out feelers in our local car community. At the last minute, a friend came through, and we were able to secure a trailer. With that final piece in place, it felt like everything was lining up just right for the trip ahead.

The Long Drive

The week finally arrived, and everything seemed to be falling into place. The AMX was cleaned and polished to the best of our ability, the borrowed trailer was ready, and our family had agreed to look in on the kitties while we were gone. We packed carefully, gathering everything we thought we might need for the cruise‑ins and activities leading up to show day. With so many moving parts, it felt good to see everything coming together.

To be on the safe side, we decided to head out early, anticipating a fourteen‑hour drive. Our plan was simple: make it about halfway, find a place to stay for the night, and finish the trip the next morning. We didn’t want to push ourselves too hard, especially with the trailer behind us and a full week of events ahead.

A Stormy Night

Monday started out sunny and warm, and we pulled out around 1 p.m., expecting at least seven good hours of daylight. About six hours into the trip, the rain began — light at first, then heavier, then downright punishing. The farther we drove, the harder it fell. We pushed on, hoping to reach what we thought would be our halfway point, but visibility kept getting worse. At one point the rain was coming down so hard we could barely see the road, so we slowed to a crawl behind the truckers who were doing the same.

By then, darkness had settled in, and the combination of night and heavy rain made the drive feel endless. Around 10 p.m., exhausted and ready to stop, we decided to call it a day. We found a reputable hotel and pulled into a well‑lit parking area near a row of electric workers’ trucks. There were cameras everywhere, and it felt like a safe place to park the truck and trailer for the night.

Our room overlooked the parking lot, which gave us a little peace of mind. We checked on the truck and trailer several times throughout the night. At 4 a.m., everything was still there — safe and sound.

But when we woke at 6:30 and looked outside, the workers’ trucks were gone… and so was our trailer.

My first thought was that maybe the workers felt our truck and trailer were in the way and had them towed. But my husband had left our information at the front desk with instructions to call us if anything needed to be moved. No one had called.

The Morning Everything Changed

Our truck, trailer, and car — along with everything we had locked up inside — were gone. All that remained was the glitter of broken glass on the pavement where they had smashed the window to get into the truck. We called the police, but mostly we just stood there numb, confused, and trying to understand how this could have happened. It felt unreal, like we were watching someone else’s nightmare instead of living our own.

I won’t lie: my first thought was Why does God hate us? It was a raw, unfiltered reaction born out of shock and heartbreak. But almost immediately, Matthew 6:19–21 came to mind:

“Don’t store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy and where thieves break in and steal… For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”

That verse echoed through my mind again and again. It didn’t erase the hurt, but it reminded me that even in moments of loss, God is still speaking — and sometimes His words come to us in the middle of our confusion.

Now, three weeks later, we’ve been fortunate to get the car and trailer back, though both came home with damage. The truck is still sitting at a repair shop; it had been spray‑painted, the window shattered, and the steering column destroyed. We’re driving a rental car for now, with no clear information on when — or even if — we’ll get our truck back.

The Aftermath

In the days that followed, there were a lot of why questions. We kept replaying everything in our minds because it truly felt like we had done everything right. Yes, we have a show car, but we are in no way rich. We aren’t like some car folks who have two or three classics, large garages, or the money to buy new toys whenever they want. Everything we have, we’ve worked hard for.

We live in a simple ranch house built in the 1950s. Our “new” car was bought in 2017, and our other transportation was that old 1997 Ford truck. The AMX was our retirement project — completely redone by our own hands and built slowly over seven years. Parts were bought only when there was extra money. The paint job took several years, and Mr. Green Bee worked alongside a friend on other projects to earn the time and help needed to paint it. It was never a frivolous purchase. It was a labor of love.

I know some people might look at a classic car and think it’s folly or a waste of money — that we got exactly what we deserved for putting so much into it. But that’s not how it feels. This car wasn’t just a hobby. It was a family project. Our kids and grandkids helped at different stages. It was memories, time, sweat, and joy all wrapped up in metal and paint. Losing it — even temporarily — felt like losing a piece of our family story.

What We’re Learning

I don’t believe we were prideful. This car was something we thought about long and hard, and it became a true family project during retirement. The kids and grandkids helped at different stages; it was an all‑hands‑on‑deck labor of love. That’s why the loss cut so deeply. We didn’t just lose a car or money — we felt violated, and it seemed as though all those memories had been tarnished.

We’re still working with multiple insurance companies. The truck was insured with one provider, the classic car with another, and the trailer was borrowed, which means navigating things with the gentleman who loaned it to us and his insurance as well. It’s a tangle of paperwork, phone calls, and waiting — and none of it has been easy.

But even in the middle of all this, God has been teaching us. That verse from Matthew didn’t erase the hurt, but it reminded me that even in loss, He is still shaping us. He is still present. He is still steady. And He is still reminding us where our true treasure lies.

Yes, this experience has changed how we will do things moving forward. Yes, there have been some very hard lessons learned. But the central one — the one that keeps rising to the surface — is this:

Lean on God and family instead of fear.

That truth has carried us through every difficult day since.