A Scott in the family

You could call it a quirk of timing.  As I drop my kids off for their piano lessons I hear the radio announcers describe a contest:

Submit stories about “a Scott in your family and what they mean to you.”

They not because my grammar is sloppy but because I tangentially wonder if they are referring to a given name or a citizen of Scotland?

Going with the former, here’s my answer–

29 years ago I met a boy who reminded me of Tom Sawyer.  He was funny and ironic and wildly intelligent and in our whole lives we have been in the same geographical location for less than 96 hours.

Not sufficient time to decide that you love someone like a brother. 

But I do.

Despite the fact that he might vehemently deny what for me is the fundamental premise of our friendship–God is crazy about Scott and wants him to live with Him forever in heaven.

I admit it is fun for me to write that out because I know how much Scott believes himself to be an atheist.

Lucky for Scott, God is not an a-Scottist.

So there you go, fella-

He is coming for you and has been for years. Because He loves you.  Because to Him you will always be “a Scott in the family.”


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