The Night Marcus Drove Back

When Marcus Webb's seventeen-year-old daughter didn't come home from the Friday night football game, he didn't wait until morning. He called her phone — no answer. He called her friends — nobody knew. At 11:43 PM, he got in his truck and started driving the route she always walked home.

He drove it twice. Then he drove the longer way, past the park where she sometimes sat. He circled back through the neighborhood by the high school. His wife texted from home: Any news? He typed back: Still looking.

Just before one in the morning, his headlights swept across a figure sitting on the curb outside a gas station three miles from home — Jenna, shoes in her hand, mascara streaked, phone dead. She'd gotten into the wrong car and walked most of the way before her feet gave out.

Marcus pulled over and didn't say a word about the rules she'd broken. He just got out of the truck, sat down on that cold curb beside her, and held her until she stopped shaking. Then he drove her home.

That is what Jesus is describing in Luke 15. A shepherd with a hundred sheep notices one is gone — not in the morning, not when it's convenient — and leaves everything to find it. When he does, he doesn't scold. He puts it on his shoulders. He calls his neighbors. He throws a party.

Heaven is full of fathers who drive at midnight. And the Good Shepherd never stops looking until every lost one is home.