a quiet sermon in aluminum.

There’s a reason race car interiors feel so spartan. A wheel. A few gauges. No entertainment. No noise for the sake of noise. The car is saying, Be here. It’s the same instruction our lives repeat in a thousand ways, return to what is essential. Stewardship begins when you stop scattering your attention, because attention is the first resource you’re given. If you can’t steward that, everything else suffers: your work, your relationships, your health, your craft, your money, your spirit.

You can see it in the metal. It’s not perfect. It’s lived in and that’s the point. Stewardship isn’t about preserving something in a museum state. It’s about keeping it alive and true through real use. A steward doesn’t fear wear. He fears waste. Wear means the thing is fulfilling its purpose. Waste means the thing is being neglected, misused, or abandoned before its time. A vintage car is a handshake across time. Someone shaped that panel. Someone drilled those holes. Someone made decisions that still matter today. When you care for it, you’re not just keeping metal alive, you’re keeping meaning alive. That is stewardship at its deepest; honoring what you inherited by improving how you carry it. Not changing the essence. Not chasing trends. Just carrying the thing forward with integrity. You can be the kind of person who leaves things better than you found them. You can be the person who doesn’t break what they touch. You can be the person whose presence stabilizes a room instead of consuming it. That’s a form of wealth that everyone respects.