It followed us, the shadows of it forming a droop in the
skyline above. A sallow sadness hung
above us.
No ordinary road we walked, there was laughter and
merriment, but also wrecklessness and confusion.
For the first time as a saved soul, I strode down
infamous Bourbon Street. With every step
my heart found itself deeper in a place of intrigue that was always eclipsed by
anguish.
So much rich talent danced around us. The street performers, the costumes, the
music filled the warm air. Its essence
saturated the atmosphere and it all was indeed what fashions a night in New
Orleans.
My eyes were wide with wonderment as I peered into each
shop. But it was when I saw them that my
heart immediately fell to my feet.
They stood on the porch step stoop. Smiling.
Of course they were smiling. They were beautiful. They were charming, I could tell. Intoxicating.
But the depths of souls of the two women before us were overshadowed by
their near-naked bodies. Hostesses at the doors of stripclubs.
My pace slowed. My
heart stirred. My soul panicked.
To each I wanted to run and metaphorically tackle like a
mom distressed with a daughter’s outfit.
But though my heart continued to scream, I kept
walking. What would I say if I walked up to them? I remembered not so long ago when evangelists
preached to me. I laughed. I scoffed.
I dismissed. I rejected. I judged.
What would He have me do? Preach
about a God they don’t believe in? How
could I say it in a way they would understand how much they’re loved?
Fear had set in and my feet continued to move.
That was a really difficult night.
And this aching in my heart continues to deepen for the
world. My hunger to help, to save, is as
constant as a pulse, but left unfed.
I have the passion, but not the words. Not the absolute knowledge. Not the Scripture memorization. I have no sturdy foundation on which to stand
should I approach someone about my God—our
God.
For so long, I’ve made do with actions—letting my actions
speak for me when my mouth cannot—and I’ve grown comfortable, letting His love
for His children shine through me in ways that don’t involve formulating sentences,
arguments, and reasons. Not talking about my God has become protocol.
And lately I’ve been truly convicted of that.
Reading Revolutions in World Missions by Dr.
K.P. Yohannan, an amazing book that you can request for free here,
has really been hammering my heart.
He says, “There is nothing wrong with charitable acts—but
they are not to be confused with
preaching the Gospel. Feeding programs
can save a man dying from hunger.
Medical aid can prolong life and fight disease. Housing projects can make this temporary life
more comfortable—but only the Gospel of Jesus Christ can save a soul from a
life of sin and an eternity in Hell!”
Those two women are still on my heart a month later, and
I pray for them. And I am terribly sad
that I walked away without sharing the Gospel with them, or, at the very least,
learning their names.
God, I have the desire to help “the least of these,” but
am left speechless. How can I be useful,
how can I give You the most glory if I’m silent? Please continue to provoke in me this desire
to learn. Place on me a confidence in
Your Word so that I may share it with others.
Place me around non-believers.
Give me a heart that truly seeks to verbally share and not just physically act.
Let me be unsatisfied in this way and let me follow You to whoever
You made lead me. Give me peace about
rejection and strength to keep pursuing.
Equip me, God.
