When I venture to my friends’ home, I must be prepared to whip out my I.D.
It’s not because Lisa or Ron have amnesia.
It’s because their subdivision’s gate guard requires it. See, Mr. Gate guard doesn’t know me. I don’t have high hopes he ever will.
Because he (or she, as the week varies) seems to be a different guard each time. (A sign of a better job elsewhere that doesn’t include exhaust?)
And so my a-ha last night: God’s not like the gate security guard.
He doesn’t look at me with a clueless expression, unsure of who I am. He doesn’t have to ask (twice) how to spell Ron and Lisa’s somewhat challenging last name.
But best of all? He doesn’t change. Yesterday, today and forever…He’s the same. And He’ll be the same when I pass through this life into the gates where He’ll be ready to meet me face to face.
And He won’t ask for my I.D.