Early in the morning, the sun had just risen. The air was fresh and cool, the promise of a warm day ahead. Treva and I were driving to the office about a mile from the house, when I turned onto Main Street and stopped abruptly.
A young man stood at the corner with his thumb out.
“Why are you stopping?” Treva asked.
“There’s someone who needs a ride,” I said.
I reached back and opened the rear door. The young man slid in. “Where to?” I asked.
“The courthouse,” he said. “I’m supposed to report to my parole officer.” He’d been standing there more than two hours, he told us—no car, no ride, no luck. Our office was on the way, so I said we would take him that far.
After a moment he asked quietly if we might go the extra mile and drop him at the courthouse first. We had an early meeting, and I hesitated. But then I looked at the time, looked at him, and said, “We’ll make it work.” I dropped Treva at the office so she could start the meeting, then drove him the rest of the way.
When we reached the courthouse, he turned to me and said, “You got me here exactly on time. I won’t be late. You’re a good Christian.”
I took it as a kind compliment.
Back at the office, when I told the story, my friend Kathy smiled and said, “Good Christian… or maybe just a good human being.”
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