TheoloJeep

A Jeep Lover’s Heartbeat

I’ve been a Jeep lover my whole life. There’s something about these rugged machines—the way they stand tall against the elements, the way they feel at home whether cruising through town or grinding down a trail. They represent freedom, strength, and a little bit of rebellion against the ordinary.

Isaac knew this about me. Not long before he passed away, he promised that one day he’d buy me a Jeep. It wasn’t just words—it was the kind of promise a son makes to a father he admires, and a father treasures more than he lets on. That promise lives with me every time I start the engine. I didn’t get to see him fulfill it, but when I climb into Mercy’s driver’s seat, I feel like I’m carrying a piece of that promise with me.

Meet Mercy

Mercy isn’t subtle, and that’s exactly how I like her. She’s white with black trim and royal blue accents, standing proud with a four-inch lift and rolling on 35-inch tires. If you’ve ever tried to park her in a tight spot, you know she’s a force to be reckoned with.

She’s not showroom polished—she’s real. Covered in Christian stickers that point to the hope I cling to, and patches of states and places I’ve visited, she’s a rolling testimony of both my faith and my journey. Mercy wears my convictions and my memories proudly, and that makes her more than just steel and rubber—she’s a canvas of my story.

More Trouble Than She’s Worth?

Any Jeep owner will tell you: owning one is a mixed bag. They break. They creak. They demand more attention than most vehicles should. Mercy has given me more than a few headaches—repairs, upgrades that never quite fit right, and the constant reminder that Jeeps are high maintenance.

But here’s the thing: she’s worth it. The quirks and the breakdowns just make me love her more, because they mirror life itself. Life is messy. Things fall apart. But the ride is still worth taking, especially when it carries memories and meaning deeper than utility.

When I drive Mercy, whether it’s just to work or on the rare occasion I get to take her down a trail, she reminds me that joy can be found in imperfect things. And more importantly, that grace—God’s grace—is always present even in the breakdowns.

The Name Behind the Wheel

Why Mercy? Because that’s what I’ve been given. The mercy of God to carry on after losing Isaac. The mercy to keep finding joy in little things, like the sound of off-road tires humming on the highway. The mercy to keep living, remembering, and hoping.

Every time I see her name in my mind, I’m reminded that mercy isn’t something I earned—it’s something I was given. And that’s a truth worth driving around with.

More Than Just a Jeep

At the end of the day, Mercy is just a vehicle—metal, paint, wires, and wheels. But for me, she’s something much greater. She’s a memorial I get to take on the road. She’s a promise remembered. She’s a statement of faith rolling on 35-inch tires.

So when you see me driving down the road in a lifted, sticker-plastered white Jeep, don’t just see a guy who loves off-roading. See a dad remembering his son. See a man clinging to God’s mercy. See a story of loss, love, and grace—written not on paper, but on the side of a Jeep named Mercy.