Beyond the Walls - #5134
Thursday, September 14, 2006
Once upon a time there was a machinist who lived with his wife, his four-year-old son, and his new baby boy in a cheap apartment on the south side of Chicago. He spent a chunk of his meager earnings on alcohol and cigarettes and gambling, and then the bottom dropped out of his life. His baby boy died suddenly at the age of only six months. He was crushed by inconsolable grief, and this machinist (John was his name) took his one surviving boy to church. Now, John didn't go in. He didn't go to church. But he did wait out in front in his car, smoking his cigarette and reading his Sunday paper. Until the day one of the men of the church looked outside and noticed that man in the car. He didn't wait for John to come in. He went outside to John's car, introduced himself, asked a few questions, and then invited him in. Well, when John said he wasn't dressed for it, the man told him it didn't matter how he was dressed. That little boy gave his heart to Jesus in that church. And only a few months later, his Dad started coming to the men's Bible class. John tearfully walked the aisle on Christmas Eve; accepting Christ's forgiveness for his sins. He would grow in Christ and ultimately he'd become a deacon, and then the chairman of the deacons, and then an active Christian lay leader. The little boy was me. The machinist in the car in front of the church was my dad.