He was driving one of those hybrid cars, a small white one. He was an older guy with a very thin, white mustache and a ballcap. I stuck my head around the gas pump and asked him my question. There was no hesitation. "Always!" he said.
It was an enthusiastic response. So much so that it was one of the few times that I was taken aback. (Usually, I put other people on edge.) So I clarified for him. I wanted to pray for him right then and there. "Absolutely. Go right ahead!" So I did. Later we shook hands. "I like it ... Love it!" he said. "Say a prayer for my wife, too," he said as he got into his car. She was sitting next to him, looking at me quietly, the seeming antithesis of her husband. I asked where they were from: McPherson. Then they drove off, silently, in their hybrid car.
I prayed for his wife, and for him, again. I also thanked God. The man with the thin mustache loved it. He loved it. I don't always love it. Sometimes, I think it's a drag. But it's God's thing. And I get to play a part. When I remember that, I can't help but love it -- and love Him for his grace.
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