A Unique Position
My mom's either clueless or brazen. Last Christmas, my mom marched up to a young lady to ask if she was pregnant (and was right!....thank goodness). Not too long ago, she tried to set up a guy at church with my good friend. (The guy ended up texting me to tell me that he was actually dating someone already, and we both got a good laugh out of my mom's "silliness.") My mom's definitely a special ❄. Fortunately for my mom, she usually gets away with her shenanigans.
But one area that brought me particular chagrin and embarrassment, growing up, was her insistence on evangelizing my friends and their parents.
In eleventh grade, my mom invited my agnostic high school friend to poetry night at my church. I still remember his sister standing in the parking lot, interrogating her brother where he would be going and frowning with skepticism. In twelfth grade, my mom emphatically shoved Christian reading materials at my Quiz Bowl teammate's mom.
My mom tried to tell others about Jesus so much that even I became apprehensive.
She's daring.
She wasn't born into a Christian family.
She came to believe because my dad's business partner was willing enough, bold enough, politically incorrect enough, intrusive(?) enough to share the Gospel with her.
My mom's shameless. And she's certainly not ashamed of Christ.
She is the reason why my uncle, aunt, and two cousins are now saved, by the grace of God.
Going into 2019, I prayed sharing the Gospel would become a personal priority.
...
I'm in an exceedingly privileged position right now.
I literally just got out of Evidence class. Most of the time, I'm genuinely relieved to not get called on by the professor. And all of the time, I am left with a deep respect for my classmates.
They are so committed, down-to-earth, and multi-faceted. They're actually interesting people with huge hearts. They take their work seriously, but not themselves seriously. And most importantly, they consistently deliver cogent, thoughtful responses to Evidence questions I can't.
...
I think I am in an incredibly special season of my life.
First, because I am finally less enough of a coward to tell them about Jesus (still a coward, just less of one!). And second, because after 1.5 years of learning, going to football games, and just plain "suffering and surviving" together, I've become good friends with many of my classmates. Over these past five quarters, we've become good enough friends that they're willing to hear me out on an otherwise intensely personal topic.
Many of my closest friends at school are not married. This means that when I invite them to church, they don't have to think about their spouse and children's availability (or more realistically, amenability) to going.
Contrast that with situation at my law firm last summer. Most of my co-workers were married with children. For them, visiting church even just once could be logistically difficult. Moreover, firm life is busy. It's hard to pause and build the kind of rapport that fosters genuine, heartfelt conversation. I'll have to carry myself intentionally so as to earn the right to be heard. More importantly, the law firm environment is a fundamentally professional one, to which religious discourse is often perceived as a threat.
After a whole lifetime at school, I'm finally on the cusp of joining the workforce for good.
I honestly don't think I'll ever have the same opportunities to share the Gospel again.
I am officially more than halfway done with law school. That's 1.5 more years of sharing the Gospel with the wonderful humans currently in my life. I'm excited to make the most of the time.
But one area that brought me particular chagrin and embarrassment, growing up, was her insistence on evangelizing my friends and their parents.
In eleventh grade, my mom invited my agnostic high school friend to poetry night at my church. I still remember his sister standing in the parking lot, interrogating her brother where he would be going and frowning with skepticism. In twelfth grade, my mom emphatically shoved Christian reading materials at my Quiz Bowl teammate's mom.
My mom tried to tell others about Jesus so much that even I became apprehensive.
She's daring.
She wasn't born into a Christian family.
She came to believe because my dad's business partner was willing enough, bold enough, politically incorrect enough, intrusive(?) enough to share the Gospel with her.
My mom's shameless. And she's certainly not ashamed of Christ.
She is the reason why my uncle, aunt, and two cousins are now saved, by the grace of God.
Going into 2019, I prayed sharing the Gospel would become a personal priority.
...
I'm in an exceedingly privileged position right now.
I literally just got out of Evidence class. Most of the time, I'm genuinely relieved to not get called on by the professor. And all of the time, I am left with a deep respect for my classmates.
They are so committed, down-to-earth, and multi-faceted. They're actually interesting people with huge hearts. They take their work seriously, but not themselves seriously. And most importantly, they consistently deliver cogent, thoughtful responses to Evidence questions I can't.
...
I think I am in an incredibly special season of my life.
First, because I am finally less enough of a coward to tell them about Jesus (still a coward, just less of one!). And second, because after 1.5 years of learning, going to football games, and just plain "suffering and surviving" together, I've become good friends with many of my classmates. Over these past five quarters, we've become good enough friends that they're willing to hear me out on an otherwise intensely personal topic.
Many of my closest friends at school are not married. This means that when I invite them to church, they don't have to think about their spouse and children's availability (or more realistically, amenability) to going.
Contrast that with situation at my law firm last summer. Most of my co-workers were married with children. For them, visiting church even just once could be logistically difficult. Moreover, firm life is busy. It's hard to pause and build the kind of rapport that fosters genuine, heartfelt conversation. I'll have to carry myself intentionally so as to earn the right to be heard. More importantly, the law firm environment is a fundamentally professional one, to which religious discourse is often perceived as a threat.
After a whole lifetime at school, I'm finally on the cusp of joining the workforce for good.
I honestly don't think I'll ever have the same opportunities to share the Gospel again.
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