© Jeanne E Webster
“It’s been a long time.”
“You haven’t changed much.”
Moments falter as stammered thoughts riddle through bygone days; eyes cling awkwardly like a skittish handshake.
“Ya wanna sit down?”
“Sure. Have you been here long?”
“Naw, ‘bout a year.” Hands fidget across the table, waiting for the right moment.
“I, er… I received your letter.” Compassion rendering his unsettled spirit, he gently mutters, “I’m sorry, Joe.”
Suddenly breathing came easier; hearts shifted back into normal sinus rhythm. “Thanks, man. I didn’t know if you’d come.”
“You knew I would. That’s why you wrote to me.”
“Yeah, I knows.” His fingers stuffed in his pockets, fidgeting open and closed, open and closed.
“I knows I have done sumpthin’ really, really bad, Frank. An’ I got’s ta pay fer it.” Clearing his throat, he continued. ”But that’s not why I asked you ta come.”
Looking up with tearful eyes, he leaned closer to Frank, “I been doing lots ‘a thinking and …”
“…and I needs you for my witness.”
“Witness for what, Joe?”
“…For when I meet my maker.”
The once stagnant air became electrified by the hush. It wasn’t what Frank had expected to hear.
We never know when we’ll be called to be a witness for our Lord. Let us be ready to account for that great hope within our souls. Anytime. Anywhere. Anyhow. To anyone.
1 Peter 3:15