dad's rescue

I ran out of gas tonight after work, and sputtered to a halt. There I sat on the side of the road, in a dead car, with a near dead phone, in the pouring rain, at 11:00 pm. With the little battery I had, I called home and alerted the troops (some of which, were in bed), and was informed that Dad was on the way. All I could do was sit and listen to the rhythmic patter of the rain on the roof and the clicking of my lonesome emergency lights. It was a good time...a waiting time. I used it in silence, to slow my racing heart and mind down from finals, Christmas festivities, and regular busy-ness. I tried to listen to the whisper or, in this case, the "patter" God uses to communicate or convict. Amongst the humbling of my heart, the time of confession and silence, and the general recognition of the beautiful God I have in the glorious storminess of night, what was continually brought to my attention was just how marvelous it was to have a Daddy who would come without complaint in the middle of the night and in the pouring rain, to rescue me. It was symbol, so often forgotten, of how much God loves us....that He would send Jesus Christ into the rain and murkiness of sin to save us...that He loves us and wants us to wait on Him, and that He not only saves us, but comes when we call day by day. Dad showed up, greeted me with such warmth, as his truly valued daughter, and finagled the stupid plasticy gas thingy into my car. I know I irresponsibly let it run low, but he came when I called. That was beautiful.