Who and When

“And so I tell you, keep on asking, and you will receive what you ask for. Keep on seeking, and you will find. Keep on knocking, and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks, receives. Everyone who seeks, finds. And to everyone who knocks, the door will be opened." 
- Jesus (Luke 11:9-10)

If you read my previous blog you've had a few days now to hopefully let go of the "why's" and "how's" of life and focus a little more on "what" and "where".  But this is a little tricky if you haven't yet figured out the "who" and "when".  Who will you follow to the end of this life, and when will you decide to get to it?

Early in my life I grew up in a pretty violent neighborhood that was half African American and half Hispanic. There was me and one other white kid named Andy, who had blazing red hair and freckles, and was fresh from Ireland, so he even had the accent going against him. Most of the other kids picked on him mercilessly and one day he had enough and turned on one of his aggressors.  Now mind you, when I say "violent neighborhood", I mean it. Rocks and padlocks were in jeans pockets all over the playground, and we're talking third and fourth grade here.  Unfortunately, Andy was new to the school and the black kid he turned on, Reggie, had a reputation for laying down some heavy hurt. This was not going to be good. I had to do something.

Feeling crazy I stepped right through the mob of instigators and between the two boys and put a hand up to each one of their chests. "Stop!" I said, "You can't do this." Everyone was stunned. "Why!?" Reggie yelled at me. "Yeah!" Andy fired off, pushing me away from him. I must have had God on my mind, having gone to church for the very first time the previous day, because I just blurted it out: "Because Jesus wouldn't want you to." 

Five simple words from a kid who knew more about Fonzie that he did about Jesus. It sounds silly now, telling the story, but what happened next would stick with me for the rest of my life. Both boys looked at me and then at each other, the bloodthirsty crowd of nine year old's went completely silent and then everyone dispersed without another word. I mean everyone. That day I learned there was something powerful to that name: Jesus.

I think part of it was that God had used an unlikely witness that day (he almost always does). I was the kid who the prior year had gotten my nemesis in a schoolyard pin and tried, repeatedly, to stab him through the head with a tree spike. I was the boy who was shy and quiet but just a teeeeeny-bit crazy, who had gotten into a good half dozen fights and been suspended a few times by then. So who was I to now play the pacifist and toss around the name of God? It didn't matter. By injecting Christ into that moment, I had chosen. Even if I wouldn't really admit it to myself for another twenty-five years.

We all must come to some decision about who we are going to worship and when. Have you? It's not a prerequisite to life, but it is to really living. So if you haven't already decided then please do. I think my blog makes it very clear which direction I hope you take, and which door you will choose to knock at.