Invitation

My mom and dad have a really good financial planner that handles their retirement accounts. I was blessed to receive a Roth IRA from my parents as my college graduation gift. I was also introduced to mom and dad’s, and now my, financial planner. David is good. He’s young, eager, very knowledgeable, and excited about investing. He was gracious to meet with me when I first opened the account as I’m certain that my puny account makes him little to no commission. I’ve added here and there over the past 4 years, but when you’re young, you need nearly 100% of your income to simply survive. One day I’ll start investing once again and continue funding my accounts.

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My dad called me the other day asking if I was coming to the Christmas gathering at the Red House in Franklin, TN. I was confused because I had not been invited to any such event.

He said, “This is that dinner party that David invited all his clients to. Are you coming?”

“I wasn’t invited dad. I guess he only invited the folks with the larger accounts.”

“Oh, so are you going to come?” He replied.

“Dad, I wasn’t invited!” I was beginning to wonder what it was I was saying that was so confusing.

“Well if you want to come, I’ll just call and tell them to add you,” he said.

“Umm, well, do you think they’ll be ok with me coming?” I asked.

“Well sure, if I tell them you’re coming then they’ll add you to the list. You’re my son. They won’t have a problem with it. Trust me.”

I agreed that I would like to go. I’ve been to these events before and they’re quite the affair. Good food. Excellent entertainment. Spared no expense.

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I valet parked my car and walked unaccompanied toward the house for what seemed like a lifetime. I entered as a middle-aged woman greeted the other guests. She knew them all by name. When my turn came, a confused look crossed her face. She was polite, smiling in a friendly sort of way. It was obvious, however, that I was one of the few she had greeted whom she had never laid eyes on. In order to assuage her awkwardness and mine, I took the initiative.

“Hello, I’m Tom and Kay’s son,” I said smiling.

“Oh! Well good evening Mr. Crosby. We are so glad you were able to make it. Won’t you come in and join us? I think your mom and dad are in the next room chatting. They actually just got here a few minutes ago.”

I thanked her for her warmness and proceeded to rendezvous with my parents.

The evening was a success. Good food. Good wine. Gorgeous venue. Top notch entertainment by some of the Nashville recording industry’s finest.

I sat at my candlelit white tablecloth covered table eating some food which I can’t pronounce, sipping a fine wine that I can’t afford, and thinking about how much fun this was but how I didn’t deserve to be here.

This party was for those folks who had saved their whole working careers, had built up their nest egg, and had invested well. Like my mom and dad, these folks were not billionaires, but had worked hard and been good stewards of what they had been blessed with. They had earned the right to be there. What right did I have joining in their celebration?

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I thought about that dinner party on the way home. I think how similar heaven might be to this grand event.

I walk forward for what seems like a lifetime. My surroundings are bright and glorious. There is joy in the air. Light surrounds me. I see a throne in front of me and feel drawn to it.

In fear and reverence, I humbly take another step forward but I’m stopped short with an accusation that cripples me. I can’t tell whether it’s near me or whether it’s the voice within me.

“Who are you and what business do you have being here? You don’t belong here!” the voice shouts.

It’s a voice that I’ve heard before, accusing me, telling me that I’m not worth it. It’s a voice that I’ve become familiar with throughout my life. It’s the one telling me that I’m less of a man; that I don’t have what it takes.

I bow low, waiting for the final blow to be delivered, not knowing from which direction it is going to come.

“The voice is right,” I think to myself. “There’s nothing that I’ve done to earn the right to enter this place.”

Another voice comes from beside the throne in front of me. I’ve heard it before too. It’s a strong voice, but one of gentleness, tenderness, and familiarity. It’s the voice that I heard when I had fallen down and had been picked back up and dusted off throughout life so many times. It’s the voice who had come to meet with me in worship and in communion. It’s the voice that pronounced love over me when I felt devastated and unlovable.

“Stop!”

“It’s finished.”

“Leave him alone for good and let him in.”

“I know him.”

“He’s a friend of mine.”

I fall to my knees before the throne and then I rise.

I meet Him face to face.

He smiles.

“Hello Daniel,” He says to me, “I’m so glad that you were able to make it. Won’t you come in and join us? I think your mom and dad are in the next room chatting. They actually just got here a few minutes ago.”