EVERYDAY ADVENTURES

The Adventures of the Burger Mobile

If you’ve ever used a charcoal grill, you may have seen a warning or two about the dangers of indoor grilling. Because carbon monoxide is lethal, every bag of charcoal you will ever purchase stresses the importance of NEVER grilling in an enclosed area like a home, tent or camper. This is nothing to fool around with.

However, in fairness to my parents, I’ve yet to see a bag of charcoal that specifically prohibits grilling in a ‘66 Plymouth Valiant.

However, in fairness to my parents, I’ve yet to see a bag of charcoal that specifically prohibits grilling in a ‘66 Plymouth Valiant.

You have to remember, this was the early eighties and people unknowingly engaged in all kinds of risky behavior. Seat belts and child car seats were optional, kids played with mercury from broken thermometers (it happened on my school bus), and folks built houses loaded with asbestos.

We were basically just a step or two removed from living in the wild west. 

Also, I had youthful parents so I got to experience their young adult years, that season of life when you occasionally do things that make sense at the time, but in retrospect may sound a little crazy.

Take the aforementioned burger mobile, for instance. No one set out that day to risk their lives over four hamburgers. It just kind of happened.

Take the aforementioned burger mobile, for instance. No one set out that day to risk their lives over four hamburgers. It just kind of happened.

When I was kid, we loved to camp. We didn’t have much money, but it didn’t matter, because to me, camping was better than a trip to Disney. Not only did we get to hike, swim and take a row boat out on the lake, but also we’d roast marshmallows and sit around the campfire telling stories.

When it came to dinner, we’d either cook hotdogs on a stick or, in this instance, fry up burgers on the good old tabletop grill.

My favorite part was watching my dad douse the charcoal with lighter fluid and then throw a match to it. I suspect he added more because he knew I was watching. Flames would whoosh up head high and then we’d have to wait for the charcoal to get nice and hot.

Once the briquettes turned white, mom would plop the burgers on the grill and soon we’d be eating like kings.

That particular evening, however, the burgers had just started sizzling when we heard thunder. Black clouds rolled in over the campground. My parents looked at the sky concerned, and then . . . the heavens opened. 

That particular evening, however, the burgers had just started sizzling when we heard thunder. Black clouds rolled in over the campground. My parents looked at the sky concerned, and then . . . the heavens opened. 

It wasn’t just a storm. It was deluge.

Drenching rain soaked our campsite. It was like someone had turned on a faucet, a really big faucet, and we went into panic mode. Those burgers on the grill were all we had to eat. If the charcoal got soaked, we’d have no way to cook them.

Remember, we didn’t have a ton of money, and there was no McDonald’s down the street. We either had to save the burgers or go hungry. In retrospect, we should have gone with option number two. No one has ever died from skipping one meal.

But, like I said, it was the early eighties. We were living on the edge.

I don’t know whose idea it was, but the next thing I knew, we were jumping in the Plymouth Valiant, windows down. Dad punched the gas, and mom held the grill above her lap, with only a thin piece of metal separating her legs from burning coals. What could possibly go wrong?

No one remembers for sure, but I’ll give them the benefit of the doubt and say she was holding the grill out the window to keep the fumes outside. I’m confident they were trying to do this as safely as possible.

Seriously, though, don’t try this at home.

Thankfully we were just down the road from a shelter house where we reset the grill and finished cooking the burgers. Though completely drenched and smelling like smoke, we eventually enjoyed a lovely meal, which only by the grace of God, was not our last supper.

Thankfully we were just down the road from a shelter house where we reset the grill and finished cooking the burgers. Though completely drenched and smelling like smoke, we eventually enjoyed a lovely meal, which only by the grace of God, was not our last supper.

Now, before you judge my eighties parents too harshly, remember they did get me safely to adulthood. And if we’re honest, we should admit that we have all made choices at times that we later looked back on and said, “What was I thinking?” 

Sometimes these choices are spectacularly obvious like holding a flaming grill out the car window, but other times they’re more subtle. 

For example, when someone frustrates us, we may fire off a hasty email that we later regret.  Or when we’re stressed, we may buy things we can’t afford. If we’re feeling pressure at work we may lie or cut corners. When we’re lonely, we may look for love in all the wrong places.

Time and time again, we may find ourselves saying, “Seriously, what was I thinking?”

Often our “what was I thinking?” moments aren’t quite as funny as my camping story. Instead they’re the kind of things that wreck our lives or at the very least, leave us with a lot of regrets.

Often our “what was I thinking?” moments aren’t quite as funny as my camping story. Instead they’re the kind of things that wreck our lives or at the very least, leave us with a lot of regrets.

If you’re struggling with some of those regrets, don’t forget this truth. Long before you or I ever had even a single “what was I thinking moment,” God was already thinking of us, loving us and planning a way for even the worst of our decisions to be forgiven. 

So when it comes to grilling out, follow the warnings on the charcoal bag. When it comes to daily living, follow God. Not only can He help us make wise choices in the moment, but He gave His Son so that the guilt of our worst choices can be wiped away. •