There are days when I grow weary in well doing. Days when I would like to shut down this battle of wits and words with a world that is not at all focused on the God I serve nor interested in my opinion of His desires. Then I remember Ed. Ed was my Dad’s buddy. He would hang around the store on football days and nights. On one particular Monday evening we got into a discussion when he posed the classic question for me. “Can a good man go to hell.” Before we were done I had drawn the entire group into the mix, caused Ed to solidify his I’d-just-as-soon-burn-than-turn attitude and offered one final suggestion. “Here,” I reached out with a Bible. “You’re an intelligent man. Will you take a test for just one month?” He snarled back at me, “What?!” “For one month,” said, “when you are alone in the morning, sit down with this Bible and open to the Gospel of John. Read 10 or 20 verses, I don’t care. But before you do, say this to God, ‘God, if you are real and Jesus is your Son, reveal Him to me today.’” His answer was a telling statement that there might be a hint of belief in him. “That sounds a little spooky to me. No way.” Months later on a Saturday when I was having a day off and ready to enjoy a new car, my morning shower was interrupted by a voice from within. “I have to man to take me down to the water,” the Lord whispered. And I remembered Ed. He was hospitalized in Atlanta. “Oh, no!” was my first thought, but I relented to God’s urgings nonetheless. In the afternoon I visited his room at Emory Hospital. He was gruff, as always, and he wanted to believe for some reason that my wife was somewhere shopping and I had dropped by out of boredom. Twice I mentioned Jesus. Twice he cursed the day I was born. He threatened to have me evicted. He told me to go get my wife and go home. Torn by the downfall of a moment I thought was chosen by God, I slumped. Then, as I reluctantly began to withdraw, I stood at the door. “Well,” I began, “I’m leaving. But my wife is not here. I came only to see you. God sent me. He must love you. Because I know he loves me and if he sent me here for you, he loves you. I don’t know why. You’re a crusty, hard-hearted old man and one of these days you’ll split hell wide open. But I’m here with a message from God. God says, come home now. Time is running out.” And I walked away. Months went by and he would not talk to me, not even a passing glance. I had failed the Lord. One Wednesday afternoon at work, I answered the phone. It was Ed. He had been hospitalized according to my Dad’s report and was not given long to live. “How are you,” I asked casually, making small talk, worried about his temperament. “Fine,” he said, “real good.” “No, you sound strange,” I responded. “How are you?” Then it came. “Are you talking about that Jesus thing again?” Fear rose within me. “Yes,” I responded. “Well,” he countered, “a preacher man stopped by the house the other night and ended up on the floor crying. I asked Jesus to come into my heart. I only have another few days to live, but I’m gonna be fine.” Then, the words came that drive me forward through any wall of rebuke till this day. “I want to say something personal to you. Thank you for loving me.” Do not grow weary in well doing. Do not slow down, do not stop. Share the Gospel everywhere you go and when you have to use words (courtesy of St. Augustine). Push through resistance. Pray down walls. Be a city on a hill. I can’t quite, Facebook. Even if you don’t want to hear it, now this, I do what I do out of love. I am not having a testosterone sparring with other Christians, trying to win the award for Christian quip of the year. I am attacking your unbelief. I will not go quietly. In fact, I will not go at all until I, like Ed, fade gently into that good night. youtu.be/cVpWlf0-Gos
Posted on: Sat, 24 Aug 2013 12:36:38 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015