I sit here, nervous. My purse rests gently on my lap containing four different pieces of square paper that communicate the love of Christ. I remind myself that i'm called to reach out.
I am on a plane, sitting next to a middle-aged chap, or is he in his twenties? I'm not really sure. I am too scared to get a closer look. First bridge of communication: I offer him a piece of orbit bubblegum. After all, we are on a plane and ears do tend to pop. He nonchalantly replies "Yes, thank you" as I hand him the pack for him to take a piece out. I regret this action immediately, thinking that I should have dispensed the gum myself for him, that may have been kinder.
It's cold. I shift constantly, being careful not to brush my leg against his, though I do. He and I seem to be taking turns fake sleeping and looking out the airplane window. I am the one sitting next to the window, so whenever He takes a gander I distract myself, awkwardly. Finally, a flight attendant. Ahhhh, this is my moment. She asks me what I would like to drink, I reply nothing, just cookies please. He asks for some kind of soda and decides upon cookies as well. He glances at me. I wander if the mutual cookie liking will spark a conversation. It doesn't.
Dang..."God you are not making this easy" I think to myself. I pray silently as the man stares straight ahead. My feet are chilly. "AHA! that is it! I will ask him about his feet!". I wrestle this idea in my head thinking, "His feet?...really Lindsay? you are weird and that will never work, you might as well just ask for some more cookies and pretend to read your book again, he will never talk to you. In fact, who cares if he does?". But the holy spirit leads me to blurt it out almost like word vomit, I shift my head gently towards him and ask, "Are your feet cold?" He replies, " A little, but not really,(chuckling) you've seemed to be freezing this whole plane ride!" EUREKA! We bond.
Gradually our conversation shifts from his job in the Air Force, to the death of his father, to his Christian cousins, and then to his lack of faith in a real God. He sincerely yet accusingly begins to ask me questions:
" So, if God is God, why would he pick random guys to write the bible, and then it be translated a bunch of times, why didn't he just tell everyone?".
" What happens to the people who never hear about God on remote islands, will they go to Hell?"
" Why does God not make him self more known?"
" I used to be interested in Christianity and all that stuff when I was younger, I don't really know what happened...life I guess."
He's desperate. I try to explain, think, pray, be sincere. Some of my words fall flat, but the one's from God are filled of life. He desires an intimate encounter with God. It is written all over his face. He looks to me for the answers. I know he begins to see me as a good person, and this troubles me. I tell him my testimony. The conversation settles and he is part warm, part stubborn.
I tell him that I appreciate everything he told me on the plane.
He gives a tender smile and says, "And I appreciate you telling me everything"...but then he adds, "if telling me about Jesus is what makes you feel better, then i'm glad."
my heart breaks.
I respond, "Please understand, if I truly believe that Jesus is the only way, how could I not tell you about Him? That would be selfish."
His face is softened, as he admits to never have thought about it that way.
I pull four tracks out of my purse. By now, I know this is an adventurous man, and I ask him to "pick a card any card" he hesitates for a moment and chooses the one with a skydiver on it. He wants to read it, hungry to learn, yet not ready to say so. He leads me off the plane and we depart outside the gate. I shake his hand and walk on. He stands there for a moment, track in hand. I look back and think, "I wander if I gave him enough truth?" Most of me, wants to run back to that man, miss my connecting flight, and exhaust myself of all I know until he surrenders to Christ. But God reminds me to hand Him the reigns and that I am silly.
I walk away sorrowful, yet excited. In prayer, yet rejoicing. I remember that I never asked the man his name, nor did he mine. My name is of no importance. The name Jesus is the only one worth remembering.
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