In the rolling hills of Alabama, where the sky stretches wide and the air smells of earth and pine, the Fuhrman family farm stood not just as a place of toil, but as sacred ground—a gift from God, blessed by years of hard work and unwavering faith.
At the heart of this legacy was a 1991 Ford F-150, a two-tone beauty in blue and silver they called Old Blue. But to the Fuhrmans, she wasn’t just a truck—she was a vessel of God’s provision, a carrier of memories, and a symbol of His faithfulness through every season of life.
It all began in the spring of 1991, when Aunt Elizabeth Fulks—a woman whose joy came from the Lord and whose laughter could lift any spirit—drove into town with a mission. She’d saved up $18,000 in cash from selling her homemade peach preserves at the county farmers market, praying with each jar that the Lord would bless her hands and increase her harvest. With a heart full of gratitude, she bought a brand-new Ford F-150 from Alexander’s dealership in Gadsden. “I want something that’ll last,” she told the salesman, her eyes bright with the quiet assurance of a woman led by the Spirit. She named it Old Blue, in honor of the blue pinstripes that lined its silver frame—but more than that, it reminded her of the heavens, a constant reminder to lift her eyes to where her help came from.
Elizabeth used Old Blue to serve, not just sell. With her loyal collie, Sadie, by her side, she’d drive to market singing along to gospel hymns, her heart set on things above. But in 1994, the Lord called her home suddenly, leaving behind a family in grief and a legacy of kindness. She left Old Blue to her sister, Jerrie—though everyone called him Buck—trusting that the truck would continue to serve God's purpose on the farm.
Buck Fuhrman was a quiet man, but one whose roots ran deep in both the soil and the Scripture. Alongside his wife, Jerrie Ethel, he worked the land God had given them, growing sweet corn, collards, and turnips, and raising their sons with discipline, love, and the Word. Buck already had a truck, but Old Blue became his favorite. “She’s got Elizabeth’s spirit,” he’d say, patting the hood—though what he really meant was that God’s peace rested there, as if her prayers still lingered in the cab. Jerrie would smile from the porch, her apron dusted with flour, preparing meals that would always begin with grace.
The truck carried not only harvests but memories. David and Darryl, their sons, rode beside Buck in Old Blue, learning the value of hard work, family, and faith. Grandchildren came along—little feet bare and giggling in the front seat, hearts innocent and full of wonder. But in 2006, Buck passed away after a long illness, his hope anchored in Christ even through his pain.
They sold his old truck, but Jerrie kept Old Blue. “It’s part of him,” she’d say softly, her hand on the tailgate, the faded "Alexander" badge glinting like a cross in the sun.
Jerrie, now in her 70s, began to drive Old Blue herself. She used it to visit Buck’s grave, a rake and broom in the bed, her voice lifting in whispered prayers as she tended the resting place of the man she loved. She felt God close in those moments—closer, even, than before. But as the years wore on, and macular degeneration dimmed her sight, she had to surrender her license. The loss hit her hard, not just as a woman, but as a servant of God who'd always been on the move, always doing.
Miller, her grandson, saw her sorrow. Remembering all the joy Old Blue had brought, he prayed and reached out to his Uncle David. They called Shane, a family friend gifted by God with the skill to fix what’s broken. “Can you help us bring her back?” they asked. Shane worked for weeks, and by God’s grace, Old Blue ran again—her engine strong, her body cleaned, her spirit renewed.
One crisp spring morning, Miller brought Old Blue home. Jerrie, now 93 and nearly blind, sat on the porch as the familiar rumble reached her ears. Miller helped her down the steps, guiding her hand to the warm hood. “It’s Old Blue, Mimi,” he said. She smiled, tears falling as she whispered, “Thank you, Lord.” That day, she drove the gravel driveway from the carport to the mailbox and back, laughing in the kind of joy that can only come from Heaven.
In that moment, she wasn’t 93—she was a young wife again, her heart full, her soul lifted.
Now, every morning, Jerrie starts Old Blue and drives to the mailbox. The truck, like her, is aging but faithful. The hum of the engine reminds her of God’s mercy, fresh every morning. At 93, with eternity drawing near, she doesn't fear what's ahead—she trusts the One who’s walked with her through every loss and every joy. Old Blue helps her remember, helps her praise.
Because Old Blue isn’t just a truck. She’s a testimony. She carried food, friends, harvests, grandchildren, and grief. She’s carried prayers whispered through steering wheels and hymns sung by young and old voices. On the Fuhrman farm, under that wide Alabama sky, Old Blue still rolls on—a witness to God’s goodness, and a reminder that He is faithful from generation to generation.
Darryl Fuhrman
Founder and President
Lettermen of the USA