Go Ye…Means Today

It all started with my hairdresser.

 

I had been talked into (true confession here) letting her do my hair, always, because frankly, I suck at it.

 

So I saw her every week.

 

The salon was trendy.  Modern.

The music? Not my favorite.  Worldly.

The workforce was straight, gay and in-between.

Visibly.

 

My stylist had tats. (Tattoos, for the uninitiated).

Piercings.

Creative dress.

A different hair color and/or style, regularly.

 

And I absolutely loved her.

She reminded me that, years before, I had been her family doctor.

Can’t make this stuff up.

 

And she loved me.  Out loud and effusively.

 

So I kept going back.

Making an effort to listen to the Holy Spirit.

And love the people who worked there, and came there.

 

And she would confide in me.

Our weekly shampoo and style-out became part pajama party, part counseling session.

And loads of fun.

 

And I didn’t push her.

 

Even when we discussed parties, and boys and bars.

I held my peace. (And withheld judgment).

And gave sound counsel. In small doses.

Waiting for the still, small voice.

 

And building relationship.

 

Because, one day, in an exam room, I had led her in a prayer.

To make Jesus her Savior.

I didn’t know if she remembered, but I did.

 

And I loved her.  Listened to her.

And waited.

And talked about Jesus, when it helped her with her here-and-now life.

 

Once the Lord gave me a sudden, divine insight into one of her friends’ problems, as we talked.  And she stopped, mid-motion.  Brush in hand.

“What an…epiphany,” she murmured.  “Can I tell him that?”

“I think God is helping us.  Please do.”

Wow.  Just wow.

 

Three years into this process, she suddenly tells me she has decided to go back to church.

Be still, my heart.

 

And join a Bible study.

Lord, you do all things well.

 

Of her own accord.

 

Then she tells me that her lifestyle needs tweaking.

To line up with the Bible.

 

And eventually moved away.  To live her dreams.

 

When I drive through her town, I stop by.

For breakfast.

Or a blow-dry.

Or both.

 

And we talk Jesus.

 

Evangelism doesn’t always mean going to China.  Or Syria.  Or Uganda.

 

It might mean biting your own tongue.

And building relationship.

With the people in the world around you.

 

You could start with your stylist.

Nail tech.

Barista.

Schoolteacher.

Yeah.

 

But don’t take the shortcut and just preach at them.

Take the time.

Make the investment.

For them.

Whether they ever receive Him or not.

 

He did.

 

Peace out.

 

Mark 16:15 He said to them, “Go into the whole world and proclaim the good news to every creature.

 

“Preach the Gospel at all times.  If necessary, use words.”

–anonymous Christian quote, often attributed to St. Francis of Assisi

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