The Absolute Best Friday in the History of the World

It was the summer of 1974. I was eight years old, and I had my whole day planned. I had arrived at the blueberry field just after the dew had dried and picked enough blueberries to fulfill my order for Jack Hill and take Ms. Dubose a couple of quarts of the biggest and brightest berries. I had negotiated a contract to deliver blueberries to Mr. Hill, our local grocer, twice a week. Ms. Dubose was always willing to make me a batch of her homemade blueberry turnovers. I would eat half the batch with a couple of scoops of her Blue Bell vanilla ice cream, then trade the rest for all kinds of gadgets and gizmos with my friends. No one could resist her turnovers.

We might throw a few pitches in the yard. Then we’d race across town to the state park pool, fill the juke box with quarters making sure that Kung Fu Fighting, Rock the Boat, Band on the Run, It’s Only Rock and Roll, and I Shot the Sheriff played all afternoon. Then we’d continue our contests to see who could make the biggest splash, stay under the longest, swim the length of the pool fastest, and most consistently avoid being tagged in Marco Polo.

Then we’d get ready for the big event. Most of us would change from our swim shorts directly into our baseball uniforms and bike to the high school diamond. There, under the big lights, as the sun settled low in left field, we would be transformed into Pete Rose, Johnny Bench, Reggie Jackson, Rollie Fingers, Willie Mays, Tom Seaver… And of course, we’d beat the socks off whoever dared to enter our fiefdom. Then we’d race to Tastee Freeze for our postgame celebration complete with Mr. Mistees, coke floats, and hot fudge sundaes. Yep, I had my whole day planned.

But that day became a lesson in what can happen with the best of plans. Right after dropping the first quarter in the juke box, it started to rain. With her superhuman eyesight, the lifeguard immediately saw lightening and blew her whistle signaling everyone to clear the pool area. It was summer in South Georgia. Thunderstorms were common. The dark clouds would roll through, pushing the blue skies aside for a half hour, then the summer sun would retake control, showing the storm who was boss, and drying the field long before game time. We knew the drill. So, we sat listening to KC and the Sunshine Band (the girls beat us to the juke box).

An hour into the storm, it was raining harder. The lifeguard closed the pool. So, with no parents present, and while some kids waited for the phone to call their parents to come get them, those of us on bicycles scattered into the storm. I made it to the heart of town wearing only my swim shorts, and being pelted by rain that was beginning to feel like rocks before deciding it wise to retreat into Thain’s Dime Store.

The Dime Store was a long narrow business located across the street from the courthouse on the corner of the main intersection in Reidsville. It had a couple of long tables running the length of the store with these clear plexiglass dividers creating dozens of about 10”x10” sections on the tabletops. Each section was filled with a different type of goody. I slipped into my t-shirt and Keds, then began browsing the aisles between the tables.

You know why browsing is not a good idea, right? I was in trouble the moment I saw them. Right there before me was exactly what I needed. There was not one, but dozens of lucky rabbits’ feet. If there was one thing I needed that day, it was luck. Luck would stop the rain. Luck would dry the field. Luck would win the game. But more importantly, I needed luck to hit one out of the high school field. Our first baseman had hit one out last week. It was the first over-the-fence homerun on our team. We were visitors on a new little league field. My first two at-bats, I hit balls over the fence just foul of the third base line. I just knew I would straighten one out and be the first to hit a homerun. But Steve beat me to it. I was crushed. Now, I needed to be first to hit one out of our home field. But we played on a high school field. I NEEDED that rabbit’s foot.   

I picked out the perfect rabbit’s foot, held it firmly in one hand and reached into my pocket with the other. Empty. I had stashed my blueberry earnings safely away in the cigar box inside the shoe box behind my shoes in the darkest recess of my closet, taking just enough quarters for the juke box with me to the pool. I couldn’t go home and return. It was pouring rain. I NEEDED that rabbit’s foot. Clearly, I needed it more than the store needed it. They had dozens of them. They wouldn’t even miss the one I needed today. I glanced over my shoulder, saw no one looking in my direction, and stealthily slid the rabbit’s foot into my empty pocket.

“You’re going to pay for that.” My heart missed a beat. I had looked over the wrong shoulder. There, right next to me, was Mr. Thain. “No sir. I’m sorry. I don’t have any money. I’ll put it back.” “Yes, you are going to pay for that.” I had mistaken his statement for a question. “When you steal, you don’t just get to put it back or pay for the thing you stole. You have to pay for your crime.” My dad taught at the Georgia State Prison. He would take me there on Saturdays to get my haircut. Now, I was envisioning myself wearing a white shirt with white pants and a blue stripe down each side. Mr. Thain must have seen my eyes move to my bike leaning against the window because he stretched his arms across the aisle blocking my exit. There were boxes under the tables. No escape. I could hear my dad’s belt whipping through his beltloops. I could feel the vibration of my room shaking as my mom slammed my bedroom door. I could see the disappointment in grandma’s eyes. What had I done?   

Mr. Thain just stood there for what seemed to be hours of silence. Finally, reasoning that I would rather my parents think I was kidnapped than taken to jail, I asked, “Please don’t call my parents.” I’ll forever be thankful for his response, “We don’t have to tell your parents, if you’ll do what I tell you and pay for your crime.” I handed him the rabbit’s foot and listened. For at least a week, I spent a couple of hours each day before going to the pool, sweeping his store, and taking out the trash. I never told my friends or family, and as far as I know Mr. Thain quietly took my shame to his grave. I should note that he might still be out there somewhere.

Maybe you’ve never stolen a rabbit’s foot. But you’ve “needed” something, and you’ve sought it the wrong way. Maybe you sought attention, respect, satisfaction, money, security, adrenaline, dopamine, autonomy… You deceived, got angry, rebelled, lusted, gossiped, bragged, stole, showed off, cheated, misrepresented something, treated someone poorly, were unjust, untrustworthy, or just plain mean. It’s called sin. Mr. Thain was right. When you wrongfully take anything, there is a price to be paid that goes beyond the price of what you sought.

But instead of a stern voice saying, “You’re going to pay for that,” Jesus looks gently into your eyes and says, “I have paid for that.” That’s what we celebrate today, Good Friday. It’s the most understated of all the holidays. I guess we settle for the name “Good Friday” because we lack the vocabulary to describe just how amazing and spectacular what Jesus did on the cross was. It should at least be “The Absolute Best Friday in the History of the World.”

By fully paying our debt, Jesus made a way, the only way, for us to be holy, unblemished by our own sin and able to walk into a holy place prepared for us by a holy God who loves us enough to want to spend all of eternity eating turnovers and ice cream, splashing in the pool, laughing, and singing with us.

If you’re not so sure about this, please reach out to me, and let’s talk.

If you are sure, please pause today and thank Jesus for what he did on the cross to make it The Absolute Best Friday in the History of the World!

Grace & Peace,

John

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