The “blaaah – blaaahhty – blaaah, blaaah” of an air horn made me pause.
“Hmm, I don’t often hear truck horns here.”
Then there was another, and another, then one with a higher pitch.
Finally I woke up: “of course – the truck drivers’ memorial day service”.
Later, as I watched these shiny monsters with their proud drivers sitting tall, there were constant displays of courtesy as, even in a parade, they stopped with a cheery wave and allowed vehicles they could have crushed to cross over in front of them.
As I thought of the truckies I had met over the years – I had a brother with diesel pumping through his veins – I asked myself what Jesus would think of these often larger-than-life characters, men and women, who serve our community.
I am quite confident he would enjoy their company, have a drink and a yarn – don’t forget he did turn water into wine.
He invited himself to lunch with a tax rip-off and fraud.
He did help a woman who had been married five times sort her life out.
He loved hanging out with “real” people.
To everyone he met he said “trust me, I’ll make it right with my father, God, and we can enjoy each other’s company”.
I can very easily imagine him climbing up on the step, resting his arms on the door and saying “g’day mate! Going my way? Mind if I ride along? We can chat and have a great time together!”
You may not see him, but you can say “sure mate – jump in”.