Had awakened very early. No more chance of sleep on a Friday morning before work. Headed to a nearby Tim Horton’s coffee shop with Bible in hand, hoping for a “jump start”.
He was in his young forties. Threw a couple of curious glances my way. Joked with some acquaintances who were busy with Wi-Fi on a laptop.
I finished my sandwich and resumed some reading from Jeremiah. A shadow came over the table, and there he was wanting to talk, acknowledging the Good Book, and very much ready to tell me some of his hard-life story. He sat down.
I will not betray any details, but it was very clear that the man was spiritually starving, jobless, alone and ready to give Jesus another try. He had had some moments of revelation in the past. (I said Jesus. I didn’t say necessarily the churches.)
My contribution was a little journey into the account of the Prodigal Son and of a loving Father cutting him some slack. Everything at that table seemed pre-ordained. I remembered that I had a copy of The Message (New Testament paraphrase by Eugene Peterson) out in the car. I gave it to him together with some breakfast money and my phone number. He left that parking lot at an animated pace. It was beginning to rain.
Surprised by this opportunity? You bet.
(Note: By coincidence days before I had inserted into the gifted book a printout of the following post: