She’s an instructor at Curves, one of three. I've asked leading questions of all of them while I was working the machines. But it was “Sandi” in whom I sensed a little spark. So it seemed time to have a real conversation about what matters most and I asked her to lunch. And so we went—last Wednesday.
Before we were even out of the Curves parking lot, she initiated things, telling me she had really been thinking about one of my questions—and so I asked her if I could tell her my story. She said, “Yes.” And so, before we even arrived at the restaurant, I told her how I had come to believe Jesus was God, and what He meant to me.
When we sat down I told her I sensed a hunger in her. That I wondered if God was wooing her.
She said, “I don’t mean to make you feel badly—but I don’t think you can fix the emptiness in me over lunch.”
I nodded. We ordered our salads. She was quiet, and I waited, wanting to hear whatever it was that was keeping her from Christ.
She had some of the usual objections. I had them once too. I don’t think you can live in this world and not have these questions because you hear them all the time. She said:
I don’t like it when people think they know the way to heaven or imply that the other religions are wrong. What about the people who never hear about Jesus?
I listened. I shared some of the things that Tim Keller says in his free, online sermons (under “Can I Believe”). Good truths that I've heard before but expressed in fresh ways. Things we need to have in our hearts, so we will be ready, as Peter says, to explain the hope that is within us. Oh, we’ll feel awkward—and we’ll stumble—especially if we care deeply about the person to whom we are speaking. When I’m with my sister Bonnie, I get as quivery as jello—it’s just so important to me that she hear and understand—even though I know that is not up to me ultimately.
One of my all-time favorite CDs is Sara Grove’s Conversations, and the leading song describes exactly how tongue-tied I can get when I talk about what/who matters most. This is a good YouTube version:
This is the chorus of “Conversations:”
I would like to share with you what makes me complete.
I don’t claim to have found the Truth, but I know it has found me. . .
The only thing that isn't meaningless to me is Jesus Christ and the way He set me free.
This is all that I have. This is all that I am
I love the line: “I don’t claim to have found the Truth, but I know it has found me…”
That’s how it is. I didn't know if Jesus was wooing Sandi or not, but I thought He might be.
I do know that without Him, we are SO blind. One of her objections shocked me, and I knew she had it because the blindfold was still in place. She said:
It doesn't seem right to me that, at the end of my life, if I have refused to be forgiven by Jesus, that I go to hell.
I asked, But wouldn't you be so thankful that there is a way to be forgiven?
When I dropped her off, back at Curves, she said, “I’m sorry to have this time end.” I thought, You are not shutting down. He must be wooing you. And Saturday, when I went in, she had a gift for me.
Somehow I think I’m not the only one sowing seeds—somehow I think that beneath the dark soil, a little seed might be germinating. Life might be coming…
