Sunday, September 27, 2026

A MOTHER'S DAY MIRACLE

 4575

PRUNES, PRIDE & VINEGAR PIE


*A couple of years before Rev. Puckett passed away, I had the privilege of meeting him, and sat down with him in his home. Knowing that his wife had written a book about their children, marriage, and their lives in general, I asked if I could borrow a copy. 

Paul hesitated, but writing down my name and address, he loaned me one of only two copies he still had. While I had the book in my possession, (and before flash drives were in vogue), I scanned the volume to a CD, so that it might remain available for his grandchildren and their grandchildren.

I might mention. I knew Beth. She and I were in high school chorus together. She was a precious young lady, a Christian and a person of great potential.

Following is a poignant excerpt from Martha Puckett's book.

Almost a quarter of a century has transpired since our dear daughter left us, though she remains very much alive in the life of our family. God has used her death to impact many others along the way, and we have used our excruciating experience to help others during their time of grief.

While it was inestimably difficult to pass through the valley of the shadow of death, I am happy to say that our Savior has led us all the way, and that in our most trying times, God never forsook us.

Beth had hardly been gone three months when I began to dread Mother’s Day. Our daughter had always been so loving and thoughtful on holidays, and I knew that it would be a difficult 24 hours. But I had my duties at the organ, and I realized that it was a day that would just have to be lived, and put behind us.

On Mother’s Day morning, as I was in the process of getting dressed, I reached to get something out of my drawer. The drawer was stuck, and I jerked it open. When I did, it fell out on the floor, and all its contents were scattered across the room. Of course, I was frustrated, and exclaimed, “Lord, I don’t need this. Not today.”

Reaching up under the space from which I pulled the drawer, I felt around …and touched a large envelope. I inhaled deeply. In my hand I held a Mother’s Day card which Beth had given to me the previous year. I opened it, and wept, as I read the familiar handwriting.

It had been God’s way of providing me the courage I had so badly needed. This uncanny, almost miraculous occurrence gave me joy which remained with me throughout that day which I had so dreaded. 

As I reflect on this event, I never cease to be amazed at the peace which overwhelmed me at that moment, with my confidence that Beth now looks into the face of her Savior, and that I will most assuredly see her again one day.

 Martha Puckett. "Prunes, Pride and Vinegar Pie"


Saturday, September 26, 2026

THE STRANGE CASE OF PHAROAH'S DAUGHTER

 4574

Pt. 1

I like to think I am well-versed in Judeo-Christian scripture. However, I “ran across” a bit of biblical history this week with which I was totally unfamiliar.

But allow me to begin at the beginning.

I attended a church Sunday in which I will be serving as a pastoral counselor, and I was provided the opportunity to share my ministry with the congregation. Having shared my mission with the parishioners, I sat down, and prepared to listen as the Pastor waxed eloquent. I was not disappointed.

Following is his initial scripture text from the Book of Exodus, Chapter 2:1-10

“Now a man of the tribe of Levi married a Levite woman, and she became pregnant and gave birth to a son. When she saw that he was a fine child, she hid him for three months. But when she could hide him no longer, she got a papyrus basket for him and coated it with tar and pitch. Then she placed the child in it and put it among the reeds along the bank of the Nile. His sister stood at a distance to see what would happen to him.

“Then Pharaoh’s daughter went down to the Nile to bathe, and her attendants were walking along the riverbank. She saw the basket among the reeds and sent her female slave to get it. She opened it and saw the baby. He was crying, and she felt sorry for him. ‘This is one of the Hebrew babies,’ she said.

“Then his sister asked Pharaoh’s daughter, ‘Shall I go and get one of the Hebrew women to nurse the baby for you?’

“‘Yes, go,’ she answered. So, the girl went and got the baby’s mother. Pharaoh’s daughter said to her, ‘Take this baby and nurse him for me, and I will pay you.’ So, the woman took the baby and nursed him. When the child grew older, she took him to Pharaoh’s daughter and he became her son. She named him Moses, saying, ‘I drew him out of the water.’”

Pt. 2

I find it interesting that in the preceding passage of scripture, four of five 0f the primary characters go unnamed. The baby in the basket is none other than Moses. His father is Amram. His mother is Jochebed. His sister is Miriam. We learn the identity of Pharaoh’s daughter a bit later.

One of the best known persons in ancient Egypt has gone down to the Jordan River to bathe, when she notices a basket floating in the reeds. With this, she sends one of her attendants to fetch it.

And it is here that the providence of Almighty God begins to play itself out. Of course, Pharaoh has pronounced an edict that the newborn sons of the Hebrews should be killed; (and, no doubt, some were, though many were spared by midwives who feared God, and disobeyed the king’s order).

However, Pharaoh’s daughter, (we shall get to her given name soon), is compelled to ignore her father’s edict. (A tendency she will embrace and emulate the remainder of her natural life).

Moses’ sister Miriam ‘just happens’ to be standing nearby, and she asks Bithiah, (for this is her name), if she’d like her to locate a Hebrew woman to nurse the little fella for her. Of course, unbeknownst to Princess Bithiah, Miriam is Moses’ sister, and the chosen wet nurse is none other than Moses’ and Miriam’s mother.

It occurs to me that in our day and time had Jochebed put Moses in a basket and sent him floating down a nearby river, well, she would, no doubt, be arrested for child endangerment. However, the authorities in our day and time could not have factored in the foreknowledge and wisdom of God in this perilous time when every male child of Israel was a cat’s whisker away from death.

 

 

Pt. 3

The scripture is not clear about the length of time which transpires during which Jochebed nurses baby Moses, nor the additional years he may have spent with his natural mother prior to being returned to Princess Bithiah, the daughter of Pharaoh.

Talk about providence! Bithiah has unknowingly, unintentionally returned the little river waft to his biological parents for a season. And during this season, the Hebrew toddler is, as it were, stamped with the official seal of the ruler of all Egypt, and is, as a result, immune to the awful fate which befalls thousands of other little Jewish boys.

However, (and it’s a very big ‘however’), I am convinced that during this time frame, Jochebed and Amram are diligent in obeying the command in the Book of Deuteronomy, Chapter 11:18-21

“ Fix these Words of mine in your hearts and minds; tie them as symbols on your hands and bind them on your foreheads. Teach them to your children, talking about them when you sit at home and when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up. Write them on the doorframes of your houses and on your gates, so that your days and the days of your children may be many in the land the Lord swore to give your ancestors, as many as the days that the heavens are above the earth.”

And not only am I convinced that Moses’ parents are diligent to share the life-changing Words of the Creator with their little boy, I am equally convinced that when the son of Jochebed and Amram is returned to Bithiah, God uses him to desperately impact his Egyptian step-mother; by his words, mindsets, attitude and behavior.

 

 

 

Pt. 4

Of course, it will be decades before the “I AM” of both our earthly and heavenly existence begins to ‘show out’ in the life of Moses. But ‘show out’ He will. And ‘show out’ He does!

Who can forget the burning bush? Who can forget God’s command to Moses? Who can forget Moses’ ultimatum to Pharaoh?

We cannot be sure who serves as Pharaoh during the time of the Exodus. However, it seems very likely that he is related to Bithiah, Moses’ step mother, and that he is related by adoption to Moses, himself!

Of course, it is only natural to wonder what has become of Bithiah, the Egyptian princess, during the long years of Moses’ obscurity. Has she been lost to history, or does scripture provide us any further information about her fate? Perhaps the previous question is a bit rhetorical in nature since after half a lifetime, Bithiah “shows up” again.

It goes without saying that the pressure on this Egyptian princess to conform to royal expectations and accepted values must be extreme. But yet, tradition tells us that (drum roll) Bithiah’s biological son is the one and only Egyptian firstborn male who escapes the Death Angel; when he passes by in the dark of the night. Where ever the princess and young prince happen to be at that moment, it seems obvious that Moses has forewarned them of the impending doom of the firstborn sons of Egypt, and has pleaded with his stepmother to observe the life-saving ritual of the lamb’s blood. So reminiscent of Pharaoh’s order that the newborn sons of Israel should be killed, and the grace which befell many of them when they were spared by conscientious midwives. And, oh, the irony. Whereas, the princess spared Moses the awful edict of the Egyptian king, her own son was spared the ultimate edit of THE KING of the universe.

Pt. 5

There is an interesting passage of scripture in the Book of Hebrews Chapter 11:24-26

“ By faith Moses, when he had grown up, refused to be known as the son of Pharaoh’s daughter. He chose to be mistreated along with the people of God rather than to enjoy the fleeting pleasures of sin. He regarded disgrace for the sake of Christ as of greater value than the treasures of Egypt, because he was looking ahead to his reward.”

Yes, Moses has long since made a decision to renounce the trappings of royalty, and it seems he sets a very high standard for his stepmother Princess Bithiah, and his unnamed Egyptian stepbrother.

For we have this curious little passage in 1st Chronicles Chapter 4:18 which, as Paul Harvey was prone to say, clarifies “the rest of the story,” and settles it once and for all for us. Speaking of those people who walked across the temporary pathway which appeared beneath the turbulent waves of the Red Sea; (and which when Pharaoh and his soldiers attempted to do were drowned)…

“And these are the sons of Bithiah, the daughter of Pharaoh, which Mered, (the Hebrew) took for himself.”

For you see, this former Princess of Egypt had renounced the riches and titles of Egypt, had embraced God and the people of God, and walked away from those whom she knew and loved.

We know so little about Princess Bithiah, as comparatively little has been written about her. But I think, I think this unsung hero deserves a place in the Old Testament Hall of Honor alongside other Gentile saints such as Ruth and Rahab.

I can think of no one who exemplifies Hebrews Chapter 11 Verse 1 any better than this dear saint of God.

“Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.”

For faith compelled her to renounce that which was tangible, though temporary, in favor of that which she could not see, but which she was assured was eternal in the heavens.

William McDonald, PhD

(Email response from a former student to whom I sent this blog)

Hey Dr. Bill, 

 

Well, you were right again. I thought this was very interesting. I had never really thought about Princess Bithiah (except for on the Ten Commandments movie) either or her husband Mered, who was apparently from the tribe of Judah. In all my years in church I have never heard anyone talk about her leaving her Daddy's throne/kingdom/pagan religion for a Godly man and living with him and his people. 

 

Here are some of the descriptive terms used to identify her on the web. "The adoptive mother of the prophet Moses. She saved Moses from certain death from both the Nile river and from the Pharaoh. She played an essential role in lifting the Hebrew slaves out of bondage in Egypt, their journey to the Promised Land, and the establishment of the Ten Commandments." What? In just a very brief search about her this is what it stated about her under "Religion: Ancient Egyptian Religion (formerly) Yahwism (convert)." How cool is that? I found that "her birth name was Thermouthis and the Hebrews renamed her Bit-Yah (transliterated Bithiah), and it is written that she is given the name for her adoption of Moses, that because she had made Moses her son, Yahweh would make her his daughter." Is that awesome? Also, "she is called in Hebrew the Jewess to indicate that Pharaoh's daughter was no longer a pagan."

 

Apparently, "Mered was the son of Ezrah and Bithia and Mered had Miriam, Shammai, and Ishbah, the father of Eshtemoa ( a man of Judah) and it is also a major city set apart with the surrounding area for the priests. Talk about legacy :) Mered's dad (Bithia's father-in-law) was Ezrah.

 

Ok, I've gotta stop for now. This could go on for days! I love when you share biblical nuggets with me and spiritual insights you discover along your paths. Thank you! Have a great night my dear friend.

 

 

 


Friday, September 25, 2026

BATHROOM HUMOR

 4573

Years ago, some friends were staying overnight with us in our present home. Tony and Faye had a four year old daughter, and she walked into our hall bathroom that first night, and noticed the toilet lid was taped down since it was temporarily out of order. (Of course, we have another bathroom in our home). Well, little Janie was utterly confused when she saw the toilet lid taped down, and walked up to Jean. With a quizzical look in her eyes, she asked, "Ya'll don't pee?"

In another instance, my wife was on a missions trip to Moscow, Russia in the 1990's. Walking into the lobby of the hotel, she asked the lady behind the desk, "Where is your bathroom?" The woman responded with, "Why, do you need to take a bath?" It was obvious their terminology was different. Jean tried again. "Uhmmm, where is your restroom?" With that the lady replied, "Why, do you need to rest?" My wife finally said, "Where is the toilet?" The young woman finally understood what she wanted.

And then there was the time I was serving with the National Guard in Homestead, Florida after Hurricane Andrew. We were doing a food giveaway at the local flea market that day. Suddenly, a young Haitian mother walked up to me, and asked, "Ou est les toilets?" I had retained enough French from my college French class two decades earlier, and pointing to the porta potty's on the perimeter of the complex, I replied, "Voila les toilets!" Speaking of bathrooms, and that particular period of time, my fellow soldiers and I waited 8 days after arriving in Homestead to get our first shower. I'm sure our ambiance was known to one and all to those we met along the way!


by Bill McDonald, PhD

Sunday, September 20, 2026

A PILGRIMAGE TO SALEM

 4572

Pt. 1

 

I have always wanted to visit Salem, Massachusetts.

 

It is a sad and convoluted story, but I have family ties there; undesired, undenied, but undisputable ties there.

 

As any serious student of history knows, between 1692 and 1693 dozens of Salem's citizens were accused of being witches, and approximately thirty were not only judged, but found guilty. As a result, most were hung by the neck 'til dead, at least one was pressed to death by heavy stones, and several died in prison.

 

I regret to say that two of my ancient uncles, Joseph and Jarvis Ring, were involved in that nasty business.

 

Fast forward exactly three and one third centuries.

 

Recently my wife and I were in Massachusetts. Our daughter had undergone surgery in Boston, remained in the hospital several days, and was released to return home. Having been released, Kristy insisted on driving the two hours which lay ahead of us.

 

However, we had hardly left the hospital when our plans abruptly changed.

 

Our daughter spoke.

 

"How about we take a slight detour? Haven't you always wanted to see Salem?"

 

To which I replied,

 

"Well, you have just completed a serious operation. Wouldn't you rather head on home?"

 

Not to be deterred, Kristy was determined to follow through with her plan.

 

Pt. 2

 

 

Not knowing Massachusetts, I had no idea I might have almost walked the 15 miles between Boston and Salem. We were there before a half hour had elapsed.

 

I had read the testimonies of my maternal 9th great uncles, Joseph and Jarvis. I knew they had accused, and testified against a particular woman.

 

While we were in Salem, my daughter and I took a trolley tour; a tour which focused on the sites where the accused citizens were interned, and, ultimately, executed. We drove by the site of the old prison, and the location of the hangings. Having been hung, their bodies were thrown off the brow of a hill. (It is said that their relatives retrieved their bodies at night, and provided them a primitive burial).

 

I had seen photos of the Salem memorial stones; each one bearing the name of one of the accused so-called "witches."

One of the stones was inscribed with the name, Susannah Martin; the lady against whom my ancient relatives gave false testimony.

 

I stood there for the longest time. And I found myself doing penance, as it were; on the part of mouths long since stilled, and which no longer had the wherewithal to utter an accusing word.

 

"I am so, so sorry, Susannah. You were wrongfully deprived of a long, good life. I ask your forgiveness. My family asks your forgiveness."

 

It seemed a weight, almost as heavy as that memorial stone, fell off my shoulders.

 

Old Testament scripture speaks of generational blessings and curses. I think if the dynamic of curses applies in the New Testament, it is largely due to bad role modeling, and a conscious willingness to emulate one's forebears' behavior patterns. Those who have placed their faith in a merciful Savior, who have been forgiven of their sins, and have been saved by grace have, I believe, been removed from the curse.

However, I not only did what I had to do that day. I did what I had desperately wanted to do.

 

As a counselor I have often told my clients,

 

"There are no time machines."      

 

And yet, I like to think I fulfilled a personal mission that day which will serve, as best just one man can, to reconcile a severe injustice inflicted upon someone who in no way deserved it.

 

Rest in peace, Susannah. Rest in peace.

 

by Bill McDonald, PhD

 


A DEATH IN SALEM

 4571

Telegram & Gazette
Monday, March 27, 2006
Who was Joseph Ring and why was he killed?

By Wilson Ring THE ASSOCIATED PRESS

ELIOT, Maine— An L-shaped cellar hole still marks the site of the Neale Garrison, built in the mid-1600s a quarter-mile uphill from the Piscataqua River. Somewhere near here 302 years ago, an ancestor of mine was burned at the stake.

I visited the garrison’s remains as part of a quest to learn as much as I could about the final hours of Joseph Ring — my six-times-great-grandfather.

Along the way, I’ve confirmed quite a bit about his life: that he fought in some of America’s earliest Indian wars, that he gave some curious testimony at the Salem witch trials which helped hang a woman, and that, yes, he, too, came to an untimely end.

Unfortunately, he seems to have left no letters or diaries behind. But my quest put me in closer touch with a cousin, and together we shed light on stories passed down over the years and made some new discoveries about our distant relative.

It was in 1638 that Joseph Ring’s father, Robert, emigrated from England to the new world as a 24-year-old indentured servant.

A barrel maker, Robert eventually became a solid middle-class member of Massachusetts society, and the area of land he owned, near where the Merrimack River empties into the Atlantic Ocean, is still known as Ring’s Island.

Joseph Ring was born Aug. 3, 1664, in Salisbury, Mass., to Robert and his wife, Elizabeth Jarvis.

The boy, whose life would become a series of entanglements with history, was 11 when King Philip’s War broke out. This was the first of a series of on-again, off-again wars between the English settlers on the one side and the Indians and their French allies on the other, that would last almost 100 years.

Today we can reinterpret the Indian wars as a clash of competing cultures which the Europeans were destined to win. But 17th-century settlers living at the edge of English civilization didn’t know if they would survive.

“Northern New Englanders faced an unknown enemy that seemingly appeared from nowhere, struck with devastating force and just as quickly disappeared,” said Cornell University history professor Mary Beth Norton, one of many academics who helped me trace my ancestor.

She said some readers of her 2002 book, “In the Devil’s Snare,” which linked the witch trials to the Indian wars on the frontier, compared the fear of Indians then to the terror following the Sept. 11, 2001, attacks on the United States.

In Joseph Ring’s time, all able-bodied men served in local militias; volunteers were recruited for expeditions, or garrison duty on the frontier.

“The recruits tended to be younger, unattached types, who could use a few dollars and enjoyed an adventure,” said Emerson “Tad” Baker, chairman of the history Department at Salem (Mass.) State College.

Ring fit the profile. He was part of an expedition in 1690 as New Hampshire Capt. Shadrach Walton tried to relieve Fort Loyal, a stockade in Casco, now Portland, where about 200 inhabitants had been besieged by 500 Indians and French soldiers.

The four-vessel expedition arrived too late.

Ring and the others found the town burning after the Indians killed most of the settlers who had surrendered and been promised safe passage by the French commander.

The Indians “wreaked their vengeance unchecked,” reported the 1897 “Border Wars of New England” by Samuel Drake. “After plundering the fort the invaders set it on fire, and it was soon burned to the ground, leaving Casco untenanted, save by the unburied bodies of the slain.”

Most of what we know about Ring came from two affidavits he gave in 1692. They describe Ring’s role in the ill-fated expedition to Fort Loyal and provide other glimpses into his activities and possibly his state of mind.

In the statements, Ring describes a meeting that appears to have changed his life. In a tavern in Great Island, N.H., on the way to relieve Casco he met a man named Thomas Hardy, who invited Ring to play shuffleboard. Ring didn’t have any money, but Hardy lent him two shillings. Ring lost.

Over the next year, Ring was terrorized by Hardy, who kept demanding his money. Ring described a series of bizarre, dreamlike encounters with his nemesis and others. In one, Ring “was scared out of his wits by a fireball and ‘the dreadfull noyse & hideous shapes of these creaturs,’ ” Baker wrote, quoting words attributed to my ancestor.

Joseph Ring was possessed by demons, the Puritan minister Cotton Mather would write in a 1693 account justifying the witch trials. The young militiaman, he claimed, was struck dumb by a woman who was present when he met Hardy, a widow named Susannah Martin.

In 1692, Ring gave testimony during Martin’s trial in Salem that he had been drinking cider with Martin, another woman and Hardy before a roaring fire. Martin, he said, transformed herself into a pig.

She was hanged on July 19, 1692.

It took a while for me to come to terms with the reality that my ancestor contributed to the Salem witch trials, an event in American history that still horrifies and fascinates many.

How could he, like others, turn against his neighbors?

It may be that a modern concept — post-traumatic stress — helps explain Ring’s strange and fateful claims. He surely absorbed a terror of Indian attacks, not just because of his militia experience, but family experience, as well.

His wife, Mary Brackett, came from a family that was one of the first to settle the area now known as Portland. As a 12-year-old girl, she and some relatives had been taken captive by a party of Indian raiders and marched into the wilderness before they escaped in a canoe. Later, in separate incidents, her grandparents, father and brother were killed.

The so-called Brackett Lane Massacre in Rye, N.H., in which several of Mary Brackett’s relatives died at the hands of an Indian raiding party, came close to the time of one bizarre encounter between Ring and Hardy — and Norton thinks that’s significant.

Norton believes Ring’s experiences along the frontier contributed to his testimony against Susannah Martin.

“Joseph Ring is a great example of a frontier resident who was terrified by the threat posed by the Indian war ...,” said Norton. “Although he appeared as a witness against Susannah Martin, he seemed far more concerned about the Indians and the demons he saw aligned with them than with Goody Martin.”

Norton turns out to be an indirect descendant of Susannah Martin. And I’ve learned, ironically, so is my cousin, Franz Martin.

He lives in Los Angeles and spends much of his free time in the genealogy section of the public library, going through old town and family histories or rolling through microfilm records of Colonial New England.

He has mined a number of tidbits. In the fall of 1703, Massachusetts placed a bounty on Indian scalps and sent out three raiding parties on snowshoes to keep their adversaries off balance. Joseph Ring is not on a list of Massachusetts soldiers from what was called Queen Anne’s War. But it’s possible he was an off-the-books soldier, perhaps a bounty hunter, seeking to avenge his family’s losses.

In any event, on Jan. 28, 1704, Indians attacked the Neale Garrison, and settlers fought them off with help from soldiers stationed nearby. A 1726 history of the early Indian wars by Samuel Penhallow said nine attackers were killed.

The losses so enraged the Indians, Penhallow wrote, “that at their return they executed their revenge on Joseph Ring, who was then a Captive among them, whom they fastened to a Stake and burnt alive; barbarously shouting and rejoicing at his cries.”

We still don’t know when, why or how Ring was made captive.

Three hundred years later, many people are surprised when I tell them the story of my ancestor who was burned at the stake after testifying in the Salem witch trials.

Some see his end as a fitting comeuppance. I don’t think so. I’ve come to believe that Ring was a victim of the times he lived in.

Still, the fragments we have on Joseph Ring might be compared to the jawbone a paleontologist hopes to use to build a complete skeleton. My cousin Franz and I continue to dig.

 

**Joseph & Jarvis Ring were my 9th great Uncles, and were brothers.

They both testified at the Salem Witch Trials. As a result, a woman named Susannah Martin was put to death.

(William Royce McDonald, PhD)


A MOMENTARY MEETING ON AN ELEVATOR IN GLASGOW, SCOTLAND

 4570

My wife and I took the vacation of a lifetime eight years ago. 

We joined a tour group and traveled to Ireland, N. Ireland, and Scotland. During the course of our journey, we found ourselves in a hotel in Glasgow, Scotland; next to a beautiful bridge which spans the River Clyde, and a hundred yards from the theater in which Susan Boyle sang, "I Dreamed a Dream."

Sometime during our brief visit in Glasgow, I took the elevator from our third floor room to the lobby. At this stage I forget the nature of my mission. After a few minutes, I retraced my steps, and re-entered the elevator. A non-descript, middle-aged man stepped in behind me.

Now, my newfound friend spoke.

"Aren't you an American?"

(I could tell from his accent that he was a native-born Scotsman).

I responded.

"Why, yes. Yes, I am."

He continued. And referring to World War II, he exclaimed,

"Ah. We are so very grateful that your dear lads willingly helped us during that great conflict. So many of your wonderful countrymen died for that worthy cause. We can never thank them enough!"

At this stage I cannot remember how I answered him, but I provided him what I thought was a fitting response.

Now, the elevator stopped at my third floor landing, the doors opened, I bid the man "goodbye," and I stepped out.

I suppose our interaction that evening consumed less than a minute, but I have never forgotten it. And, no doubt, I will continue to reflect on our conversation the remainder of the days which God has allotted to me. 

by Bill McDonald, PhD




Thursday, September 17, 2026

JESUS IN A BASEBALL CAP

 4569 

(A Song Created by Chat GPT Using Only the Title of the Song)

Verse 1

He was standin’ by the interstate,

With a cardboard sign held high,

A faded pair of workin’ boots,

And kindness in his eyes.

I almost kept on drivin’,

Like a hundred times before,

Then something in my heart said,

“Son, what are you hurryin’ for?”

Chorus

It might be Jesus in a baseball cap,

Ridin’ in the seat beside you,

A little down on his luck,

Just seein’ what your love might do.

He may not look like the pictures,

With a halo ’round his head—

He might be hungry at the corner,

Hoping you’ll share your bread.

You never know who Heaven sends,

Or how an angel might be dressed—

It might be Jesus in a baseball cap,

Putting your faith to the test.

Verse 2

He said he had a family

About twenty miles away,

His old truck quit that morning,

And he’d been walkin’ half the day.

We talked about our children,

About forgiveness, fear, and grace,

And every time he smiled at me,

I swear I knew that face.

Chorus

It might be Jesus in a baseball cap,

Ridin’ in the seat beside you,

A little down on his luck,

Just seein’ what your love might do.

He may not look like the pictures,

With a halo ’round his head—

He might be hungry at the corner,

Hoping you’ll share your bread.

You never know who Heaven sends,

Or how an angel might be dressed—

It might be Jesus in a baseball cap,

Putting your faith to the test.

Verse 3

I pulled into the station,

Bought some supper and some gas,

He thanked me like I’d saved his life—

I said, “Brother, don’t mention that.”

But when I turned to leave him,

There was no one standing there,

Just an old cap on the front seat

And a feeling God was near.

Bridge

“Whatever you do for the least of these,”

The preacher used to say—

Maybe miracles still happen,

They just don’t look that way.

Final Chorus

It might be Jesus in a baseball cap,

Sittin’ in the pew behind you,

The neighbor that you never greet,

Or the stranger passing by you.

He may not look like the pictures,

With a halo ’round his head—

He might be lonely at the table,

Waiting for a friend.

So keep your eyes and your heart open,

And give the world your best—

For Jesus in a baseball cap

May be putting love to the test.


Yeah, Jesus in a baseball cap—

Sometimes Heaven looks like that.