What about going with someone and parking the car at the end of a street near your Church or a local Bible study... asking a local restaurant owner if you can have a study in the back room if there is no Bible study nearby...
You pray together and say, "Ok, Let's go to the end of this street on this side and then knock on the doors on the other side on the way back."... good... rows of houses... people inside each one... some will answer some will not... joking or just walking... careful not to step on the lawn... using the walkways... ringing the bells and stepping back...
People. Old ones. Young ones. Houses with different smells. Some you get to go in. Some you will never pass the threshold and the glimpse you got into that life... messy or clean... busy or still. That will be it. The meal you smell cooking is one you will never taste. At some doors you meet the person at others you only get to see a mask they wear and you wonder, "Does anyone but God ever see that person's real face?". Sometimes you go inside and sit on a couch and talk over a loud television blaring from somewhere. They put out cookies. They offer you water. You ask questions and listen. You play with the dog that they try to keep away from you to be polite. The gospel can be like a puzzle piece that you are looking at in you hand... you pray... How will it fit into this conversation? You turn it in your hand as you speak and listen and pray looking for the right place to put it... somewhere it will fit and not be forced or fake or religious sounding... or the message can be like water that just flows into those low broken places... it seems to shine or float in the air as it is presented and you marvel... there are prayers and divine exchanges... or polite goodbyes.
Off you go with a phone number on post-it... or no phone number... maybe you knocked three times but no one answered... the car was in the driveway? You pray while looking for a place to leave a tract with the information for the church... mailbox... no... there is a small space in the screen door to put it rolled up so it won't blow away... you stand and pray together on the steps of the house you will not see the inside of... at least today you won't...
You walk... or jog... or joke... or think... Did you write down the address?... Not me, I thought you did... Where is it?.. on the house... on the mailbox?... what was his name? Did you mention the study down the street? You ask each other, "What just happened?" and smile at your mutual frail humanity. God just visited and you find that both of you are faulty students of this little history lesson. Grace is applied and you walk... or jog... or comment about the bushes or the children riding their bikes in the street.... and knock on the next door...
Folks pull up in car... with grocery bags and kids and a cell phone balanced between an ear and a shoulder... they see you but won't look at you... you love them even though they ignore you... they are busy and they are ignoring you because you are an unknown in their busy busy day... you pray... Do you intrude? Do you offer to help.... You wave and move on saying... "You look busy. If you have moment it would be great if we could talk." People. Busy people. No time... and no lasting hope... But no time to think about it all that much.... or at least you don't know what they have or don't have because they are ignoring you... It isn't just the sun shining on them... God's face is... Do they see it? You hope they do. You talk to the neighbor and then go back to their door... knocking and hoping...
There is clean air to breath as you walk from house to house... there is love and a pure simple message... there is purpose...
What keeps me inside... in my routine... silent... in a circle of people I already know... Whatever it is let it melt away. Lift up my eyes God and open them. Break my heart. You have sent me... all of us who are found are also sent...
Occasionally I sit bored at home and I think of the supplies I bought for sketchboard somewhere drying up in my office... rolls of paper... markers... paints...
I want the numbers of soul winners on speed dial who are just crazy enough to go with me... old wise ones... young nervous ones... and every flavor in-between.
Some afternoons I don't want to sit down unless it is on a stranger's couch or in a person's car that is going to a street lined with houses that I have never seen before.
I want fingers stained with paint that tear off crude drawings illustrating the Gospel on some busy corner. I want to throw out empty paint bottles not dried up ones.
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