We stayed up late last night and so after breakfast I thought I’d take a little nap. I was just getting to sleep when I heard a chime. It was the doorbell. I peaked out of the side window in the bedroom and couldn’t see a car in the turn-around of the driveway. I was pretty sure that meant that whoever was ringing the bell was not a friend or a family member. I couldn’t hear where the better-half was in the house but I could tell from the extreme quiet in the house that he wasn’t planning on going to the door either.
The doorbell chimed again. I walked into another room where I could see a big pickup truck in the driveway and then a man standing on the front steps. He was wearing a dress shirt so I was pretty confident he wasn’t with the rescue squad or fire station who start canvassing the area this time of year for donations. Those folks dress down in golf shirts or t-shirts. This could only leave one other option: Jesus freaks.
Sure enough, they stood (for, lo, there was a woman too) on the front steps waiting for a divine hand to strike one of us so we’d come and open the door. Sadly, neither of us moved a muscle and they eventually left, clutching their good books.
What is it about Jesus freaks that mandates when they come to call at your house they must wear plain clothes? Because, Lord have mercy, they were wearing some homely outfits. If they were making themselves humble before the Lord, then I think the late model big-ass truck was a little too flashy. I don’t think the Lord cares if you drive a brand-new gas guzzling truck or not, but if you are making yourself meek otherwise, try a beater next time.
