I was mowing the grass on Saturday, and I saw a guy walk from the church next to our house, past my yard toward downtown. We smiled and said hi.
On his way back, he stopped me. I turned off the mower, and the man said, “You look like you could use a break.” He handed me a bottle of some sort of fruit punch. “This is from Jesus, my best friend.”
“Well, thanks!” I said, taking the bottle. “He’s my best friend, too.”
Then the man went on and on about some 88-year-old uncle he has who owns a tire store and it’s famous now because the uncle has tithed the income for all the years he’s owned the business. I smiled and nodded, wished him a good day, and he left.
Then I took a look at the bottle. It had been opened, and it was no longer full.
I guess Jesus needed some fruit punch?