It was a hot and sticky day. A humid, sleepy, sticky day. That summed up my last sixteen hours in the fireworks tent. Tired, I struggled to stay awake and spent time alternating among packing up the last of the fireworks, burning boxes, petting my dog Falkor, and dozing. At one point, I heard someone say, “Hey!” I woke up to find a family looking for deals on leftover pyrotechnics.
Later in the afternoon, I got a text from my high school buddy Jimmy Campbell, owner of the stand. He said he would be at my location in thirty minutes. He was bringing his big rig to load up the last of the fireworks and tent. I burned empty boxes behind the fireworks tent, picked up tidbits of trash, and decided to grab my iPad for a little Candy Crush Saga.
I glanced over the counter where my iPad should have rested, but I didn’t find it. I looked around the tables and under papers and bags. It wasn’t there.
I panicked. More than just a tool, my iPad had come from a friend. He’d believed in me and chosen to affirm me by giving me something he knew I needed. I could get another tablet, but I couldn’t replace the sacrifice it represented.
When Jimmy showed up, I told him my iPad might have been stolen.
I immediately pulled up Find My iPad on my phone. I couldn’t believe the app would actually work, but when I activated the app, it showed my iPad a few miles away, near a shopping mall.
Trying to act calm, I talked to Jimmy about the fireworks business. Jimmy, always the steady one, stopped me midsentence and said, “If you know where your iPad is, you need to go find it.”
So I took Falkor, my Labasset, who does not travel well due to severe motion sickness, and jumped into the car.
On the way to the mall, I called the North Little Rock police, who told me to call them when I was a block from the location, and they’d send a car. Upon reaching the site, I used the tracker again and found my iPad had moved from North Little Rock to downtown Little Rock.
I was beginning to get a bit miffed at that point. I couldn’t believe some loser had taken my iPad, and the farther I traveled, the madder I got. I called the North Little Rock police. They informed me I would have to call the Little Rock police since it was now in a different city.
I got to 1000 West Third Street in Little Rock and called the police. They said they would have a car there in a few minutes.
My sense of justice in full throttle, I visualized every possible scenario as to how I was going to love watching the police handcuff the scumbag. I imagined the satisfaction I would feel in seeing the thieves hauled off to jail while I stood smiling in the background. The gratification of being responsible for saving the world from a degenerate criminal.
While waiting for the police, I decided to update the location. The app said my iPad was just around the corner. I decided to run around and take a look. That didn’t work. I saw nothing more than a corporate office building and not a soul anywhere. I drove back to the parking lot and waited for the police.
I updated it again. This time, the app said my iPad was back in North Little Rock, just off JFK. So I headed back across I-30 toward North Little Rock. I called the police again and told them where I was headed.
At that point, Falkor was exhibiting critical signs of travel distress. I knew exactly what to expect. All things come from the earth, and all things return to the earth. Falkor returned much at that time.
Holding the steering wheel with one hand, I used the other to spread out a hoodie on the passenger side so Falkor’s lunch wouldn’t get on the floorboard. Then, using the same hand, I grabbed his snout and held it over the floorboard so he wouldn’t puke on the seat.
My frustration was mounting. I couldn’t believe the stress—all thanks to one thieving slimeball. I couldn’t wait to nail the reprobate to the wall. I had a pocketknife, and I wasn’t afraid to use it.
Just as I crossed the river into North Little Rock, driving with one hand while attempting in vain to keep Falkor from fulfilling Proverbs 26:11, I heard a voice as clean as a glass of cold, fresh water. The voice of my Father in heaven said, “How much have you been forgiven?”
I love the way God chooses flawless words to make his perfect point. I have no scriptural precedent for this, but looking back and processing, I believe if he’d said, “How much have I forgiven you?” I would have felt guilt, shame, and self-condemnation. I didn’t realize from the beginning how I should have been feeling about the person who’d wronged me.
But because he said, “How much have you been forgiven?” my body instantly relaxed. A supernatural calm and understanding came over me. I felt forgiven. He gave me the gift of peace, love, and affirmation that can only come from knowing I am totally, unconditionally forgiven. My eyes filled with tears as I whispered, “Lord, so much more than I could ever begin to pay back, much less understand.”
I knew then that no matter what the law might do, no matter the consequences that might await the individual, my job was to show forgiveness and mercy. I thought of what Jesus said in Luke 6:35–36 (NIV): “Love your enemies, do good to them, and lend to them without expecting to get anything back. Then your reward will be great, and you will be children of the Most High, because he is kind to the ungrateful and wicked. Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful.”
At that moment, my phone rang. Jimmy was calling from the tent. I was sure he wondered why I’d been gone for more than an hour.
When I answered, Jimmy said, “Someone is here, and he wants to talk to you.”
Jimmy handed the phone over to the someone, who said, “My name is Alex. My brother stole your iPad for drug money and sold it to me. I have it here, and I want to give it back to you.”
Incredible! I said, “I’m on my way back there now. Can you wait ten minutes?”
He said, “I’ll wait here all night if I need to.”
When I arrived at the tent, I let a grateful Falkor out of the car. Sighing deeply, I glanced at my hoodie on the floorboard, thankful it was washable. Deal with that later. I saw a young man and lady waiting. Walking toward them, I could see the fear and anxiety on his face. Immediately, I calmed him by saying I wasn’t going to involve the police. I told him what had happened over the last hour and how the Lord had sweetly dealt with my attitude and changed my heart. I also told him exactly where he lived. He asked how I knew. With a calm resolve, I answered, “That’s the address where the police and I were going to meet.”
He then informed me, “I’ve recently been released from prison, and I’m trying to do the right things. My brother told me the iPad belonged to a friend of his who needed money and said he could sell it for sixty dollars.” Alex bought it, and his brother left. When Alex looked at the iPad screen, he could see tracking information. He knew immediately the thief would face prosecution.
Knowing that could cause big trouble for him, Alex called his brother and said, “What have you done? This iPad is someone else’s.” His brother hung up. Not deterred, Alex texted him and said, “I’m calling Mom.”
That, to me, is far worse than threatening police action. I guess Alex’s brother thought the same. He immediately called Alex and told him where he’d gotten the iPad. And Alex brought it back.
I asked Alex if he knew Jesus. He smiled and issued an emphatic “Yes!” I invited him and his wife to come to church with me sometime.
The consequences of sin might include whatever the wheels of justice and law deem appropriate. My job, as a follower of the One who paid the price for me, is to offer forgiveness.
Alex’s brother needed mercy, not judgment. Just like me.
