The last few days are really a blur. Various moments where God has just shown up again and again.
Last week I was feeling pudgy. My body has no discrimination when it comes to making me feel better about myself and began to whisper “fatty jumbo cakes” into my ear. As I looked into the bathroom mirror, I remembered the theological views of my reform friends. I don’t really agree with them, in fact I violently reject almost all views of Calvinism.
By violently I mean, book burnings, and the occasional rage-filled internet meme posted on Facebook. Yet toying with these lofty sentiments I said to myself, “Perhaps God has a reason I am fat!”
I mostly talk to myself because myself responds so kindly and says nice things about my lush beard.
I hopped upon the little scale in my bathroom and found numbers staring back at me. Large numbers. Numbers that usually only belong on license plates and calculators, but no no no no, not on scales. They do not belong on scales by any means.
It being past witching hour, I felt uncomfortable with scurrying outside into the cold and clammy night. Seattle breaths frost into your soul after all. Yet a lingering voice in my head would not stop…
“FAAAAAATTTY JUMBO CAKES.”
I guess when I talk to myself it’s not always good. As I could not silence the objection to my passive sitting, I did a sigh and walked out the front door.
As I walked I began to think about Seattle. The lovely place. Had it really been God’s will I come here? I’m by no means theologically boxed in enough to even know if it was. So I made a list…
1. I have cats to attend to
2. The ferret
3. I still have to kill the bird in my mom’s room (like a poltergeist I have unfinished business)
4…
5…
As the list went on, by some miracle of grace, I started to see the incredible ways God has worked so far.
From connecting with old friends, to an amazing church, raising support, and even auditing seminary classes. God was in everything! I felt really content and though, “God, you must have a reason I am here. Or be bad at planning. I refuse to believe it’s the latter.”
So that night at an hour which should not exist, I arrived in the weight room of my apartment complex. Strangely enough, in an arm chair sat a man drinking coca cola and watching a christian rapper.
Strange.
Normally the weight room is my escape from the rigors of humanity. No one goes into it. Especially at one in the morning.
I introduced myself and like little chatty Cathie’s we began to talk.
He explained that he was watching a christian rapper and had never heard of such a genre of music. So I shared the gospel with him and talked about life as a missionary.
I didn’t know what to say at first, then a little voice in my soul said…
Talk about heroin.
HEROIN?!?!? Like who talks about heroin?!?!
I should talk about like Pokemon or the weather but NOT heroin. Yet I decided that if Jesus wants me to name drop drugs, who am I to judge.
So I started talking to this mysterious man and mentioned I once counseled homeschoolers…
You have to set the stage here. Then I said, I also worked with people addicted to heroin. Then his eyes got a little shameful and the man, who we shall call Mr. B said “Is it that obvious?”
I wanted to say. No. No it is not. I just have this amazing spirit inside of me that says crazy things like “NAME DROP HEROIN JAKE! HE’LL LOVE IT!” And I try to listen to this spirit when he is not so mind-blowingly extreme that I panic and pretend I am crazy myself.
Instead I changed the focus of that into wanting to help this man.
Then I manned up and told him that I have the Holy Spirit. He does stuff like reveal deep secrets of the heart. Apparently Mr. B was doing something in the weight room.
That is where the conversation picked up and we talked a bit about life. Mr. B then told me that earlier this man had came in and told him he needed Jesus and plus also Church. Then Mr. B decided to pray and a christian show came onto the television and a missionary walked in and offered him help.
And hope.
So I got his phone number. I asked if we could meet for church or coffee and he said “Yes!”
Then I prayed with Mr. B and saw little droplets of tear form in his cornea. Man tears. Where we look watery in our eyes but are really weeping inside. It was a beautiful moment. After Mr. B left I worshipped God and was so stoked that He forced me to go the weight room that night.
I didn’t even feel like fatty jumbo cakes anymore. Then I thought about it for a moment. Maybe God made me feel overweight for a reason. It was a fun night, Jesus is soooooo real.
Pray for this man! We gonna get him SAVED!!! ZZZZZZ! I believe Jesus can change the heart of anyone and this one was so tender and fragile. So pray for Mr. B!
It’s early in the morning but I have a couple more stories about this week. Culminating in me meeting a pretty rad professional actor. I’ll return promptly.
