Late the next day, the doorbell rang and there stood Denver, wearing the biggest grin I’d ever seen in my life. In the driveway sat the truck, washed and waxed.
We sat down at the kitchen table and he told the tale of his trip. Finally, he said, “Mr. Ron, you got more faith than any man I ever knowed. Things got a li’l shaky, but I just couldn’t let you down.” Then he handed me a ball of wadded-up cash—about $400.
“How come there’s so much left over?” I asked.
“’Cause I slept in the truck the whole time and ate at McDonald’s and 7-Eleven.”
I hadn’t expected there would be any money left after expenses, so I said, “You keep it for doing such a good job.”
“No, sir,” he said quietly. “I ain’t for hire. I did that to bless you and your family. Money can’t buy no blessins.”
Humbled, I stood there and looked at him, not sure if I’d ever received a more gracious gift in my life. I couldn’t let him go away empty-handed, though, so I told him to take it and use it to do some good for someone else.
The trip turned out to be life-changing for both of us—for him, having proved he was trustworthy, and for me, having learned to trust. Two weeks later, I sent Denver to Baton Rouge in a Ryder truck loaded with paintings and sculptures valued at more than $1 million. According to my client there, Denver guarded the contents of that truck like it was the gold in Fort Knox.