Everybody, Always

twenty-five years. “Wow,” I said. “I bet you’ve met some interesting
people in that time—not me, of course, but you know, famous people.”
“I have,” he said. “I’m really going to miss this job, because I’m
retiring next month.”
I sat back in my seat, watched the palm trees pass by for a few more
minutes, and then I had a thought. I leaned forward and said through the
glass, “Hey buddy, have you ever ridden in the back of one of these
limos? I bet you’d love it. They’re terrific!”
He laughed and said, “Of course not. I’d get fired.”
Now I had my arm through the glass between the driver’s seat and the
living-room-sized back seats in the limo. I think I even got a shoulder
through the window. “Hey, you’re retiring anyway. Pull over!” I said.
And you know what?
He did!
I got out of the back of the car, and we swapped places. He got in the
back, and I put on his hat and jumped behind the wheel and drove us to
Disney World. He got there about fifteen minutes after me—it was a
pretty long limo.
I carry medals with me all the time. They don’t say anything on them.
I’m a lawyer, so the medals mean whatever I say they mean. I opened the
door and let my limo-driver friend out from the back seat. He stood up
and straightened his jacket, and I was still wearing his hat. I pinned a
medal on his chest and said, “You’re brave. You’re courageous. You’re
foolhardy! Did you see how I took that last turn?” I spoke words of truth
and affirmation to him with a smile. I patted him on the chest, gave him a
hug, and walked into the hotel.
When the limo driver went home that night to the woman he’s been
living with for the past ten years, do you think he told her he’d met a
Christian guy that day who told him he was supposed to be married? Of
course not! I bet he told her he’d met a guy who told him who he was.
That’s our job. It’s always been our job. We’re supposed to just love
the people in front of us. We’re the ones who tell them who they are. We