February 23

One cloudy day in my childhood, I sat on the floor of my room in front of the window with my Bible open to John chapter 1. I read that people who believe in Jesus and receive him become children of God, and I understood in a new way why the Word had to become flesh and make his home among us. In my 11-year old heart, I heard the invitation of the Lord to become his child by believing in Jesus, and there on the bedroom carpet, I accepted the invitation. I believed in Christ and received him, and I knew even stronger that He had received me. 

I had sat down on that floor dead, and I stood up from it alive. 

Just a short time later, I made my commitment public and was born again through baptism on the twenty-third of February. 

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A young woman moved into the apartment with me in January. This was part of the deal, of course, since I am serving as a resident assistant with an organization that meets “youth in crisis” right where they are, giving them community and cheering them on as they learn to set and meet their own goals. 

I knew we would be pals from the start - she loved to talk, she was funny, she loved to do stuff, and when it came to the dishes and the common areas, she was clean. :) 

I instantly gained a buddy. She loved to tag along with me to all my activities, and I loved her company. We went to Wednesday night church, Thursday morning Bible study, Friday night devo, and Sunday night small group. She had already been exposed to Christianity in her past, but let’s just say she got a whole another big dose of Jesus. Then one day, she told me she wanted her own Bible. 

She was so excited to get her own Bible, and once she had it in her hands, I said, “You know, we might as well start reading it together and talking about it. Would you like that?” 

“Oh yes!” She said enthusiastically, and so we started working through the simple and beautiful message of the gospel, verse by verse, after dinner every night. 

On the Sunday night that she told me she was leaving the next day, we talked for several hours. And then we had one last Bible study, and she heard the entire gospel. When we came to John 1:12-14, I explained to her that this was the verse that led to my decision to follow Jesus. “Then I was born again on February 23, 2003.” I paused when a light bulb went off in my head. “February 23!” I almost squealed and my mouth hung open. “That’s today!” 

I had written the verse references on a scrap sheet of paper, and she asked me if she could have it. I slid it across the table to her and she put it in her new Bible. “I am going to show this to my family when I get home,” she said. 

The next day she got on a bus, a few days later her phone number changed, and now the apartment is sadly quiet and empty. 

I have a dear friend who loves Jesus, and so she loves telling people about him. She has reflected with me on the fact that many times, when we tell people about Christ or share the gospel with them, we never know what happens after that. Sometimes we plant seeds without ever seeing the sprouts, nevertheless the fruit. Sometimes we write a few lines, but we never read the rest of the story. I imagine that one day, when we get to heaven, we may see people there who were impacted by our witness, but we will never know until then. And we will rejoice not in the small role we played, but entirely and wholly at the salvation and creativity of Jesus. 

She has turned this certain earthly inconclusiveness into a prayer: Lord, surprise me with the rest of the story. 

May the not-knowing never discourage us from continuing to share the good news about Jesus boldly with the people around us. Let’s throw the seed wherever we go, even if it falls on rocky soil, thorny soil, or hard soil, for sometime later the hard heart may crack open and the seed will still be there to fall inside. Some of the seed we sow will fall on good soil, and sometimes you won’t even know until you throw. And even if we won’t enjoy the fruit until we eat of it in heaven, let us labor faithfully not for the reward of the harvest but for the honor of the Owner of the field, in obedience to the One who invites us into his family, into his kingdom, and into his field.