“Kick Me! Hard!”

No one could believe that I would really do it. But I did. Right in front of Sayler’s Steak House. With lots of people standing around watching. I guess I knew I had that kind of relationship with him that we could be that real. So I kicked him. Hard. A swift boot to his behind as he leaned over the hitchin’ rail.

We were in Portland visiting friends and family. We had moved to Tucson a couple years before, after living in Portland for about four years. It was about the time when Mt St Helens was erupting, because I can remember shaking all the ash out of some little fir trees in my brother’s front yard. One evening we decided to go out for dinner, and chose to go to Sayler’s, the famous steak house in the southeast part of town.

After dinner we walked outside and were standing around on the sidewalk enjoying the nice summer evening. And out of the door stumbled my old neighbor. All the while we had lived in Portland I had spent lots of time with Mick, my next door neighbor. He invited me over to have a beer and watch the Cassius Clay fight on TV. I said I would come join him, but bring along my own soda. He reminded me of that often that I would accept his invitation, even though I had one slight reservation. One time we had a Halloween haunted house in our basement for the church Junior High group. We did a test run and let his daughter go through it. It scared her so much I don’t think Halloween was ever the same for her. And again, he never let me forget it. We had tons of great memories.

But that night at Sayler’s, when Mick walked out the door kind of drunk, he broke into tears when he saw me. He missed me. And all the times we had talked about spiritual things must have bore fruit. In his guilt and shame, but mixed with hope and remembrance, he came to me and said, “Kick me. Kick me, Dave. Kick me hard!” And so I did.

He wanted to get together the next morning, and I agreed to come over. He called me at 6:00 AM and asked me if I could come earlier than I had said. So I was on my way. We talked, and reminisced. Mostly, we remembered important things, not just the fun things. And soon he was on his knees and prayed to receive Jesus into his life. I was so proud of him, and so thankful that finally, unexpectedly, all the years of friendship had born fruit, fruit that would last for eternity.

Jesus told some stories of a lost sheep, a lost coin, and a lost son, the point of which was this, “I tell you, there is rejoicing in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner who repents.” (Luke 15: 7, 10, 32)