A few weeks ago I was sitting in my bed room, which is also my study, and Jenny came in to get me. There was someone out in our driveway and in the road in front of our house kind of stumbling around. I put on my shoes and walked to the front door. From the front door of my house til the point that I met this guy I had a very difficult task. My task was to care at all about this man that has gotten my wife’s attention as someone who might need help. Do you know what I mean? If I just cared about this man, I might be able to do more than shoo him away from my house. He was staggering and looking confused. I asked him how he was doing. He said he was doing fine. I asked him if I could do anything for him. He was waiting for a ride. Someone said they would take him to get something at 7/11 and then take him home. I didn’t believe him at first, because he really seemed drunk. I asked him some more questions. My compassion had turned on in those 36 steps from the front door to the stranger, and I wasn’t probing, I was trying to help. He told me that he had some problems with balance after being shot in the head. He showed me the scars. He told me exactly how it happened, and we agreed that it was a miracle that he was alive. We talked for 10 minutes about his life and miracles. A car pulled up. It was his ride to 7/11. I got his name. He got mine. He left.
Jesus treated me this way. I was shipwrecked in life; it was a combination of my own sins and how people had hurt me. Jesus came a long way to meet me where I was standing, struggling to even stand upright. He came with passion for me, and he loved me so much that he willingly bore the cross to seal a friendship with me.
