There He Is!

I had occasion to tell this true story to a good-sized crowd today.

When I was just a little tyke—about age six to nine or ten—my dad worked rotating shifts. When he worked the day shift there was many a time that I stood on the street corner waiting for him to come home.

Our house was the second one from the intersection, about fifty feet away. Along about 4 o’clock I waited on the corner, looking down A Avenue, watching and watching for him to come down the street.

When I saw his pickup round the corner down at 3rd Street, I got excited and shouted to myself, “There he is!” He drove so slow! But eventually he arrived at our corner, stopped and let me jump onto the running board. He drove me home.

And you know, it didn’t matter if I was wearing nice clean clothes or scruffy clothes and no shoes. Dad always stopped, picked me up and took me home. I didn’t have to be clean. I could be a muddy mess from boying all day, but he always stopped and took me home. Even if I hadn’t been a good boy that day, he always stopped and took me home.

I didn't have to be perfect. He was my dad; I was his son.

Well, now I’m a child of the King and pretty soon he’ll come down the street. I’m afraid I’m not perfect, but I’m confident that He’s going to stop long enough for me to jump on the running board. And he is going to take me home.