He was pumping gas into a big Chevy pickup when I pulled up beside him. The size of his truck proved to be to my advantage, because he was stuck standing there for a long time. He was short guy, but stocky. He was wearing a blue shirt and jean shorts and had a big mustache. He might have been chewing tobacco.
After I got the pump running into my little Civic, I stepped around beside him and asked if I could ask him a question. “Can I say a prayer for you?” This guy was a little was different than most of the others. There wasn’t a moment of hesitation. “Sure,” he said. It wasn’t a giddy, clap-your-hands affirmation. But it was solid. Definite. So we prayed there beside the gas pump. It was a Friday night, so I prayed for his safety in wherever he would be going that night, and that God would draw him close.
He thanked me, and we parted – me to my side of my pump and him to his. I liked his response. It was immediate and certain. I’d like to think he is strong in his faith, and kind. When I left, he was still pumping gas. It was a big truck.
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