Crossing the tracks.

  Arlene and I just returned from a sibling reunion.  Part of the weekend involved a visit to Yarrow, a town where our family lived during a couple of my pre-school years.  The house we lived in was no longer there, but the train tracks, only a few steps away, were. These were the tracks that I was repeatedly told not to cross unless an adult was with me.   I don't remember how many spankings I received for disobeying that order, but apparently they were numerous.  I was only five, but I was very much aware of the irresistible pull of temptation.  Then came a very special day in my life. It was in our little house, close to the tracks that I knelt beside my mother to ask Jesus to come into my heart.  The next evening as my mother prayed with me she asked if I was still a Christian.  Without hesitation I said "yes!"  How did I know?  "I didn't cross the tracks today."  

As I stood on those tracks once again, now as a 62 year old, I thought of how that distorted view of salvation had colored my view of God over the years.  Do everything right today and you're still a Christian.  Make an unauthorized trip across the tracks tomorrow and you're toast.  Your heavenly father disowns you.  It probably wasn't until I had my own children that I was able to see how great and how unconditional is the Father's love towards me.    I still cross the tracks on occasion and my Father disciplines me as he sees fit, but his acceptance of me as his child never wavers.