“How long have you been a believer, son?”
I sighed. “I’m not,” I said flatly, not in the mood for wherever this conversation was going. I was in small-town, rural America. He was probably about to preach at me.
He nodded as if he understood. “I wasn’t, either. I lived nearly thirty years without the good Lord.”
That surprised me. “What made you suddenly believe?”
He turned to look at me, and I noticed he was a bit disheveled. His hair was all messed up and his clothes were slightly torn. His beard could use a trim too. I was now questioning if he was homeless, so my heart softened.
“It was a real cold winter about forty years ago. I mean arealbone chiller. Joe lets me sleep in the storage room of the dock house on a cot, and it’s got a bathroom, but it don’t have heat,” he proclaimed, pointing to a gray building with a sign over it that readDock House.
So I was right. Homeless. Or close to it. Joe sounded like a good guy, whoever he was.
“It was fixin’ to be twenty below and I knew I’d die that night if I didn’t get somewhere warm. Church was havin’ one of them concerts like they had tonight. My plan was to sneak in, listen to the music, and then hide in the bathroom while everyone left so I could stay the night in the heat.”
I was already mentally texting Chloe to buy this guy a warm house tomorrow. This story was too sad. He was old enough to be my grandfather; he shouldn’t have been sleeping on a cot on a boat dock without heat. I felt bad for being short with him earlier.
“What happened?” I asked, into the story now.
He grinned, which took years off of his face. “By the first song, I was weeping like a baby.”
Shock ripped through me at his words, and I sat up straighter. That’s what had happened to me tonight.
“By the second, I was confessing my sins and asking for God to forgive me,” he said. “And by the third, I was crying out to Jesus. Never been the same since.”
For some reason, his story affected me deeply.
“Why do you think you cried?” I had to know. I had to know what that was earlier.
“I think worship music is about broken people in need of a savior. It speaks to our soul and allows God an opening to reach us. It opens a door and you just gotta step inside.”
Was that what that was? God trying to reach me? I remembered the peace I’d felt in that moment, during the song. A peace that had now left me, and I ached for it again.
I swallowed hard. “But…no offense, sir. You’re homeless. How can you believe in a God that would allow you to live like this?”
“I got a home,” he said, pointing up to the sky. “One that always has heat in the winter.”
Heaven? Okay, I was back to thinking he had dementia.
“This earthly life is fleeting,” he explained. “Willow Harbor is my home for now. I sleep in Joe’s Dock House during the summer and the church in winter. The pastor even feeds me dinner every night. I got all my needs metandthe good Lord in my soul. I want for nothing. And eventually I will reach my heavenly home. One that lasts forever. That’s the one I care most about.”
I hung my head, feeling so ashamed in that moment. This man had what I would consider nothing, yet he had more than I did.
He was happy. He had God. He was content with his life. When he fell asleep every night, he probably had no regrets in life.
“I cried tonight when I heard the first song,” I blurted out. I had to tell someone, and I was never going to see this guy again after tonight, so it didn’t matter.
He just nodded. “And the second?”
I laughed. “I left. The first one freaked me out too much.”
He looked over at me, and in that moment, his eyes were so deep and rich they were practically glowing. “No point in fighting it, son. Haven’t you heard? God is the fisher of men.Once He sets His sights on you, He’s going to reel you in sooner or later.”
I smiled at that. Fisher of men. That was cute. I’d never heard that before.
“It would take a lot to get this fish,” I told him, tapping my chest.
“Careful what you wish for,” he said, and just then, there was a tug on my line.
