Brethren, pray for me.
I confess...I taught my sons to prevail in the paper hornet wars that take place on the playground of their school.
I am not raptured yet.
I, unlike Enoch, have not been translated either.
In fact, some time back, my wife and I had driven separate vehicles to church, and gone to Applebee's after a late Sunday night service. I was in my old, beat up coon hunting truck.
My wife left with my youngest son, while I stayed to take care of the check. Three college age boys had been at the bar for a good while drinking, and had gotten a little rowdy. They went out just a bit ahead of me.
As I was making my way across the mostly deserted parking lot with my son in tow, they came driving up alongside us. They stopped when I got to my old truck and began verbally harassing me and talking in a bellicose manner.
I looked at them and saw a look in their eyes that I had seen before a time or two, and knew that the old devil was putting some very foolish ideas in their minds.
As I stood there, a great wave of compassion for those misled young men swept over me. I knew that if they were to do what they had in mind--jump out of their vehicle and thrash me--that the ehavy hand of God's judgment would come upon them for abusing a man of God.
I couldn't bear the thought of that happening to those boys.
But as the Scripture says, "Where sin abounds, grace doth much more abound."
Grace provided the inspiration...I got my tire tool out of the back of the truck and backed up against my door, looking upon them with all the agape I could muster.
Showing more wisdom than they had been showing up to that point, they threw their car in gear and peeled out of there, accepting the way of escape that mercy had so graciously provided for them in their hour of temptation.
Truly we serve a good God.
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