He was a written-off car, didn’t survive the crash. All the valuables and the brokenness were swept to the junk yard, waiting to be compressed into unidentifiable existence.
His Maker has a habit of favouring scrap metals. He visits the junk yard often. In fact, He makes that a priority. He knows all metals by name like He knows the stars.
When his Maker whispered his name, instantly he recognised Him. And he knew exactly which precious metal he was disregarding how beaten up he was and how insignificant he felt. He responded, here I am.
And that’s all was needed for him to be pulled out from the junk yard, and redecorated with all other stars to light up the glorious sky, once more.