He appeared in my driveway 15 minutes after hanging up the phone, a record time. It was approximately 9pm at night on a Tuesday. We were both busy men with all the responsibilities and obligations that come with men of our age, but I needed to speak with him and he always made time if I asked. A courtesy I deeply appreciated.

I quickly grabbed my coat and put on my shoes to head out. Heavy torrents of rain met me as I raced out of my house and covered up my head with my coat. The storm came down so hard that it didn’t do much good. My body drenched from head to toe, I sloshed my way into his car and slammed the door shut. The windshield wipers whizzed back and forth, failing to clear the water away, and the radio played a rock song I didn’t recognize. Howard loved old 70s rock. 

I reached over to shake his hand, not expecting a light spray of water to spread across his dashboard. “Sorry about that,” I said, wiping the water off with my hand. 

“It’s just water,” he said, smiling. He had a warm, fatherly grin, something that never failed to soothe my nerves. He put the car in reverse and pulled out into the road.

“You sure you don’t want to just talk at my place?” I asked. “This storm looks malicious.” 

He put the car in drive. “If you want to talk,” he started, “we talk in the car. Rain or shine. Night or day. Just you, me and the dashboard. Remember?”

I nodded. The steadfast routine we built couldn’t be altered. Howard was a man of principle which made him come off as a stubborn old goat. Either way, the car was the logical choice. Howard and I met on the road. At the time, I drifted from place to place, homeless and alone, angry at myself and God and the world. I didn’t believe in God then, but I still harbored a boiling anger against him. There’s no use trying to explain the contradiction. We’re all full of them. Either way, it was who I was, and I didn’t plan on changing. 

Most of the time I’d hitchhike and when I got real hungry or needed extra cash I’d sign on the street with a piece of cardboard I found in a dumpster. Standing on the street corner and signing took a lot of patience. Most people drove on by, not giving a care in the world for a dirty, bearded wanderer like myself. The occasional soul might drop a few dollars or granola bar, but not many. One afternoon, when the sun beat down on my head, I walked down the highway with my thumb out, hoping to catch a ride. Howard pulled up in the same car he always drove.

“Where ya headed?” he asked.

 I told him. 

“Hop in. I’ll take ya,” he said.

The Full Story

Read the remainder of Drive of Discipleship to learn how Howard and Billy develop a friendship that naturally leads to discipleship. Download the full story.

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