Like many towns in America in the days before Wal-Mart, my childhood town of San Marcos, Texas had quite the town square. In the middle of the square, stood the courthouse, tall, ornate, impressive and busy. Shops lined the streets all around the courthouse. Penney’s at one end, Sears at the other. Woolworth’s in the middle. And the wide sidewalks were always bustling with people. Businessmen in suits. Moms with neatly dressed kids in tow. Many passing greetings and chit chats with folks you hadn’t seen for awhile. It was the place to be.
As kids, we loved going down to the courthouse square. Every store had grand displays in its window. Every window had a child’s nose plastered against it. If you’re old enough, you no doubt can envision the scene.
It is no wonder I found myself bathed in joy one late Texas afternoon. You see, I was at the courthouse square all by myself with my dad. Dad and I both needed a haircut and he was taking me with him. It would be so cool. I would soon sit with him in the barber’s waiting chairs while people talked to him until it was our turn. People would ask my dad if I was his son. Would ask me if I’d been playin’ much ball lately. Would ask me who my favorite Astro was.
To make things even better, dad found a parking spot close enough we could see the spiraling barber sign but far enough away that we got to walk one full side of the square. Instinctively, I secured a walking lane next to the windows and we headed for the barber shop. Side-by-side. Hand in hand.
As often was the case, the window displays seemed designed just for me. No doubt a train in one … a water-powered rocket in another. Maybe even a miniature airplane with a real engine in it. At first I glanced at windows only occasionally. Soon I was fully absorbed … I let go of my dad’s hand and scurried from store to store … leaving a noseprint on each display.
We must have been about three-fourths of the way down the block and by a store for ladies when it happened. I turned from the displays, began walking normally beside my dad and reached up to grab his hand. “Lookin’ for somebody,” a strange voice at the other end of the hand said. I instantly froze. Panic set in. I was so caught up by the window displays I’d lost my connection with my dad. Where was he? Would we still go to the barbershop together? Would I ever find him? An instant cloudburst of despair.
“Stevie, I’m right behind you,” a familiar voice rang out. In an instant, I was reconnected.
“It’s pretty easy to get distracted by the windows, isn’t it son?” dad asked. “Sure is,” I replied.
I suppose it’s been 30 years or so since dad and I took that memorable walk. But I haven’t forgotten one minute. For that one moment probably taught me more about how to walk with my heavenly dad than all the years of church school combined. In that instant, I learned how easy it is to become distracted by innocent displays … to the point that you find yourself holding the wrong hand. How desperate separation feels. That God is right behind me waiting for me even when I feel profoundly lost. And that no matter how enticing the displays of this world might seem, to never ever let go of His hand.