Eugene Peterson recalls a time when he was five years old, standing at a barbed-wire fence, watching an adult neighbor and fellow church member, “Brother Storm.”  The man rumbled up and down the field in his enormous tractor, and the daily wish of little Peterson was to ride on that John Deere.

One day while the little preschooler stood by the fence with that mixture of awe and longing, Brother Storm stopped.  He stood up from the seat, and made strong waving motions to Peterson with his arm.  “He looked mean and angry," said Peterson.  “I knew I was probably where I shouldn't be; five-year-old boys often are.  I turned and left.  Sadly.  I hadn't felt I was doing anything wrong – I was only watching from what I thought was a safe distance and wishing that someday, somehow I could get to ride that tractor.  I went home feeling rejected, rebuked.”

The next Sunday at church, Brother Storm approached young Peterson.  “Why didn’t you accept my invitation the other day?  I was hoping you’d ride with me a while.”  In his preschool eyes, Peterson thought the man was shooing him away when instead he was beckoning him into an experience the little boy had long desired.*