Mark Trotter, a few years ago, told a beautiful story about a boy whose parents were missionaries to India. When the boy was 12 years old, his parents left him and his younger brother to go to India and take up their tour of duty there. Their intention was that once they got settled they would send for the boys. But shortly after they left America, World War II broke out. They couldn't get to the boys, and they couldn't get the boys to them. So the separation between the missionaries and their sons went on for something like eight years. When the war was over, the parents returned to America. Their oldest son was 20 years old and in college. He recalled how excited he was when he got the word that his parents would soon arrive in their hometown by train. The son got to the train depot early, even before the sun came up. When the train finally pulled in, the mother and father were the only ones who got off the train. The son wrote these words:

"I could barely see them in the haze, and they could hardly see me. We embraced in the semi-darkness. Then my mother took my hand and led me into the light of the waiting room. There were tears running down her cheeks as she looked at me. She kept looking at my face, staring hard. Then she turned to my dad and called him by name, 'Arnett,' she cried, 'he's gone and looked just like you! He looks just like you!'"

That happened to Zacchaeus spiritually that day. He came down out of that sycamore tree looking and sounding and acting like his Lord.