It was a cold winter night. Jack was sitting in front of the fire carefully lining up the pieces from his gun cleaning kit. He had cleaned his guns before, but tonight was different; tonight the cleaning had a dual purpose. One purpose was to see that his weapons were all in working order; the other was to scare the living daylights out of the sixteen-year-old young man who was scheduled to arrive at his door in the next half hour.
Jack was a tall, athletic man who kept himself in good shape. He often joked that he worked out constantly in preparation for this moment. He knew the day would come when a young man came calling. That day had finally arrived. Jack’s mind flooded with images. He smiled as he remembered the day he brought her home. No man had ever been happier or more proud. Now, in just the blink of an eye, young men had begun to come knocking.
At 6:59pm, the doorbell rang. It was Scott. He was right on time. Jack opened the door and greeted the young man, who had to wipe the sweat from his palms before shaking Jack’s hand. “Come in,” Jack said. There was more bass in his voice than usual. “Can I offer you something to drink?” Jack asked as he pointed to the chair cross the room from his workstation. “No thanks, I’m fine,” Scott replied as he looked nervously at the assortment of firearms lying on the table in front of him.
Jack sat down, picked up his two-tone Kimber .45 caliber semiautomatic pistol, and proceeded to fieldstrip and clean the weapon. As he ran his bore snake through the steel, match-grade barrel, he asked Scott, “Do you have any idea how much she means to me?” Scott, mouth hanging wide open and eyes wide as saucers, could only manage to nod his head. “Good,” Jack continued. “I just want to make sure we’re on the same page.” Scott shook his head more vigorously. “Do you remember what time I told you to have her back?” “Yes, sir – 11:30,” Scott blurted out, finally able to produce audible sounds. “Don’t worry, sir. I’ll take good care of her and get her back long before that.”
Jack stood up, walked up the stairs, and disappeared. Moments later he reappeared. This was the moment Jack had waited for. He could barely contain himself. Resolved that he had done everything he could to impress upon this young man the importance of taking great care and showing the utmost respect for his baby, Jack turned around, reach into his pocket, and handed the young man the keys to his brand-new 6.5 liter, 12 cylinder, All Wheel Drive, $354,000 Lamborghini Murcielago. “I want her back without as much as a scratch,” he said as the young man started toward the garage.
Of course, the story above is completely absurd. Who, you ask, would give the keys to a brand-new Lamborghini Macielago to a sixteen-year-old young man? Well, I have a better question. Who would be foolish enough to think their daughter was worth less than any car? It should be as unthinkable for us to turn our sixteen-year-old daughters to this young man as it is to contemplate giving him a depreciating hunk of metal. However, we have come to prize sports cars much more highly than we do daughters these days. (What He Must Be If He Wants to Marry My Daughter, p. 159-160).
For a great sermon on the topic of manhood and fatherhood by Pastor Voddie, click here.
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