(A Turning Point Story)
“This is my god,” he said, pointing emphatically to the marquee below him.
“This” was the Midtown Cinema – Mobile’s downtown porn theater in the 1970s.
It was a Friday night, and a group of us had met to do street ministry in downtown Mobile. We left the church parking lot armed with tracts – little booklets that explain the facts of the gospel – and hearts filled with boldness and expectancy. The people I joined on that particular night were a who’s who of influence and friendship during my high school and early college days – Terry, Wayne, Greg, Pat, Pam, among others. We spent some time at the bus station, as well as the sidewalks beneath the majestic oaks that line Government Boulevard. We gave literature to anybody who would take it, and talked to anybody who would stop. I remember that several people prayed to receive Christ that night. Most didn’t.
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In my previous post, I told the story of a rainy head-on collision between a bicycle and a car – and I was on the bicycle. Here are some lessons I have learned or been reminded of since.
The Christian life isn’t a joyride in the rain, but a war. If that analogy offends you, or if you’ve never experienced life on the battlefield, chances are you have never taken your relationship with Christ very seriously. This war we are engaged in is one we’re destined to win. The Lord Jesus has conquered sin, death, and the devil, and those of us who belong to Him are heirs of that purchased victory. But until He comes again, you face the realities of spiritual warfare on a daily basis. In your struggle against the forces of the world, the flesh, and the devil, you will find no peace talks, no negotiations, no cease-fire orders. You’re in it for the duration.
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(A Turning Point Story)
What do you do when you encounter somebody who’s made a wreck of his or her life? What do you do when that that wreck of a life shows up in your place of worship? What do you do when YOU are the wreck?
The closest I ever came to having a horse was a 1964 Ford Tractor at my granddaddy’s, and a ten-speed bicycle I got for Christmas my ninth grade year in school. I put miles – miles – on that bike.
Now, years later, it leaned against the wall in my dad’s workshop in disrepair. But for some strange reason, Daddy and I were inspired, and decided to get it going again. A brand new front tire, new tubes, adjustments to the brakes, handlebars and seat – only one thing was missing. Our hand pump wasn’t strong enough to inflate the tires completely. So we pumped them up as much as possible, and decided to take the bike to a nearby service station to finish the job. We had to hurry, though, to outrun one of those afternoon thundershowers so common in Mobile during the summer. We took the short cut through the woods behind the house – I on my old trusty-rusty steed and my dad on my sister’s three-speed. We emerged behind a shopping center near the service station, only to be greeted by a sudden downpour.
So we waited.
It was frustrating to sit there, pinned in by the rain with our destination in sight. So when the shower let up a little, we decided to make a mad dash for it. We had a plan, sort of. We’d go across the parking lot, behind the Seven-Eleven store, through the little alley, to the Texaco station. Once we go the tires pumped up, we’d figure it out from there.
Off we flew! Across the parking lot. Around the back corner of the Seven-Eleven.
Just one problem.
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A Turning Point Story
This is for all you jocks, coach dads, and soccer moms out there who never were in the band or had a kid in one. Other than my year of football futility, the primary point of my non-academic energy was spent in the band. And during football season, I got to wear the fuzzy hat. Yep, I was the drum major – the band’s field director during my junior and senior year.
The high point of marching season was traveling to either the Florida or Mississippi coast to participate in a regional band contest. Can you imagine the energy, the excitement that fills a stadium when more than 30 bands gather and perform, with no football team in sight for miles? Unlike football games, where half the crowd heads for the concession stands, at a contest people in the stands cheer loudly for every slick move, every powerful burst through the line. And did I mention that there isn’t a football team in sight?
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(A Turning Point Story)
This is an article I first wrote about my son 16 years ago, about what a powerful thing encouragement can be. It means as much to me today, if not more, as it did in 1993. Click “share this” and forward it to the encouragers in your life. Thank them for being your “Face in the Window.” And let somebody know you’ll be theirs….
It was one of those forgettable days, when nothing seemed to go right. I was physically, emotionally, and spiritually exhausted. The summer heat was unbearable, the humid West Alabama air unbreatheable. But I had to bear it, and I had to breathe it on this day.
Name a pitiful emotion – I’m sure I felt it on that day. Rejection, anger, discouragement, depression, loneliness, fear, shame – they all showed up with the intention of staying.
“Nobody needs you,” they said. “And nobody believes in you.”
It was a day of giving. Normally that rejuvenates me, but not today. On this Saturday, I had given time, love, and tenderness, together with a whole lot of physical energy. I had given my best (I thought). Apparently, others had disagreed, and I had been humiliated in front of a large family gathering.
I was spent. I would say that I came home with my tail tucked between my legs, but honestly I don’t think I was standing that tall.
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