Once when I was a teenager and learning to drive, I bumped the left front fender of my Dad's brand new 1967 Chrysler. I remember it well. The car was Baby Blue with leather interior and had little turn signal indicators on the tip of each front fender. The one on the left was now slightly out of line and a little cockeyed. It still worked but it seemed to say stu-pid, stu-pid, stu-pid, as I drove it home.
Dad was at work when it happened. He had a company car to drive and had left the new one at home. My Mother asked me to run to the store but instead of driving my little ’63 VW Bug which you couldn’t dent with a sledge hammer, I took the B I G NEW Chrysler. So what, if it was three times as long as my little Bug, I was 16 and could drive anything, right?
I made it to the store and made my purchases and was now ready to make it for home. Griffin, where I grew up, has four lanes through town with big trees growing in the median. In the summer the trees create shade covering from one side of the road to the other. An extra left turning lane was added at intersections and I was in one of them waiting to turn. The little fender turn signal was happily announcing my intentions. The gentleman in front of me was starting his turn with me right behind him when suddenly, and for no apparent reason, he hit the brakes. I was too close to stop and I bumped him. His bumper, undamaged, made a C shape in the “boxy” left fender of the Chrysler and created a hollow in my stomach as I began to realize what I must face. The police let me go with no ticket since the car I hit was not damaged so I was free to go.
I had to wait all afternoon for Dad to come home. My Mother was supportive as I waited for him to get there but that was little comfort. I would have to face him alone. I rehearsed my explanation trying to find a good reason why I had bent Dad's new “Pride and Joy” and finally decided that any story I could make-up would be easily discerned and I might as well just tell the truth. I had a part time job and would promise to pay for the damage.
It was about 6 o’clock and the sun was starting to dim a little when I heard him in the driveway. I went to the foyer to greet him and get it over with quickly. As I heard him coming up the steps suddenly I was fighting back tears and when he came through the door my eyes were wet and beginning to spill over. He walked through the door and put his arms around me without saying a word. Then said, “Are you hurt”? “No.” I said, but the car is.” “I saw the car,” he said, “but the car is not important. You are my son and I love you.”
The Bible often compares the love of God to the love of our earthly fathers; saying, “How much more will God do for His children.”
The day I wrecked my Dad’s car taught me many lessons. I am thankful to have had an earthly father who taught me how to forgive. He passed away about a year later when I was 17 not long after God called me into the ministry.
HAPPY FATHER'S DAY! 
