Tuesday, Jul. 22, 2003 - 12:36 p.m.

An Appointment in Time

It was about half a century ago that a 16 year old boy rode a bus home to southern Washington after spending a year at a Christian high school in Canada. He was eager to see the folks he loved and missed but he knew it would be a long night as the bus pulled into the station in a small town 150 miles from home. A layover of several hours was ahead of him. After a time, he climbed down from the empty bus, walked through the nearly empty station and stepped out into the quiet night. The streets were dark and barren of traffic. The neon lights of a bar up the street were the only indication of life except for two children sitting in an old car in front of the bus station.

They stared at him with interest as he walked up the street. One girl had dark hair and eyes and appeared to be 11 or 12, the other was younger, 7 or 8 maybe, with copper red hair and green eyes. They seemed to be waiting for someone. He gazed into the closed businesses and into the bar as he passed. Most of the customers had left for the night, only a few drunks huddled over the counters as the bartender swept the floor in preparation for closing.

Turning back towards the bus station, he could see the children still waiting in the old car. He could almost write their story himself and his heart broke with compassion for them. Where was the parent who had callously left them there, where was the mother who might have put them to bed, and how were they to get safely to wherever they might call home?

He cried out to the God he loved. "Lord, send someone to tell them the Good News of a Saviour who cares and can give them hope. I'm here, send me, even if I have to marry one of them. But please, not the redhead."

Years passed. Once again, he gazed at the ramshackle bus station as he drove his new car down the faintly familiar small town street, his wife by his side, big with his first child. High school triumphs, parties with friends, rodeos all over the West and a stint in the Navy had taken him far away from that young boy and the God he'd loved.

In disbelief, he heard her idly talk about the old bus station where her father had left her and her sister to wait so many nights.

800 tells this story for a lie because it is so far fetched, but I know it is true. I was the dark haired child. Thank You, Father.

EE's devotional

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