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Face-to-Face with Big Foot
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The
harvest moon spilled its bright glow through the
trees and onto the lot, where my
Academy friends and I were carrying out our important assignment. The four of us—fourteen
years old and ready to take on the
world—were to build a bonfire for our school’s event scheduled later that
night.
As
we worked to pile wood in the center
of the tree-lined lot, we heard it
coming toward us—the rumble of dual
Glaspak mufflers! We exchanged glances and held our breath, in hopes he would
drive on by. Then we saw it—that infamous shiny black coupe. Everyone in the country knew that 1948 Ford meant trouble.
“Oh,
no! It’s Big Foot Roberts!” My mind was racing, but I could not will my feet to
move. In a booming voice, he hollered from his window, “What do you punks think
you are doing? You aren’t supposed to be way out here. This is my territory!
You’d better get out of here right now or I’m going to hurt you bad!” To
punctuate his threat, he gassed his engine and those Glaspak mufflers roared.
Big
Foot had a reputation for being the
biggest bully in the county. A hulk
of a man, he preferred to pick on young kids. The moon cast shadows across his
scraggly beard and contorted face. Too tall to fit comfortably in his car, his
6’7” frame was hunched over the
steering wheel, making him appear that much more ominous.
Standing only twenty feet away from him, we exchanged
anxious glances. We were wide-eyed with fear and wondering about our fate.
Suddenly, he slung open the car
door, spewing curse words I had never heard before. I was the tallest of the
four, and he fixed his angry gaze on me.
“Oh,
God,” I secretly prayed, “please don’t let him hurt us!”
As always, God’s timing was perfect. Big Foot lunged from
his shiny black coupe, falling face down to the
ground with one leg dangling out and one leg stuck in the
car. You see, he hadn’t received the
nickname “Big Foot” frivolously. It was reported that he wore a size 23 shoe,
and—I believe—God was the one who
caused that oversized foot to hang up between the
clutch and the brake pedal.
Sprawled
on the ground, he spit dirt as he
lifted his face slightly. The light of the
moon wasn’t sufficient to tell for certain, but I feel sure his face was
flushed with shame. Cursing, he scrambled to get his foot loose, heaved himself
back into the car, and peeled out
leaving a cloud of dust behind him. I will never forget the
echo of those Glaspaks as he headed south.
Thinking
back on this incident reminds me of another
young man and his “big foot” experience. When David met Goliath, I wonder
if—like me—he got a lump in his throat as he surveyed his larger-than-life opponent.
Or, was David so certain of the
victory that God would give him that his mouth never went dry as the giant of a man spewed his murderous threats
toward David?
I
know it was with confidence in God’s almighty power that David ran toward the army to meet the
Philistine and shouted, “This day the LORD will deliver you into my hand…then all this assembly shall know that the LORD
does not save with sword and spear; for the
battle is the LORD
s, and He will give you into our hands,” (1 Samuel 17:46-47). As David
slung the smooth stone, God caused
it to hit Goliath in his one vulnerable spot—on the
forehead, between his eyes—just as God caused Big Foot Roberts to be vulnerable
before us, trapping his foot between a clutch and a brake pedal. With God’s
help, both “big foot” enemies were eliminated!
What
“big foot” experience is haunting you just now? Don’t try to face it in your
own strength—turn it over to God! Stand firm in faith. Remember, the battle is the
Lords.’ When you’re in His army, He gives you the
victory!
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