Photo by Billy Pasco on Unsplash

It finally clicked in that God was speaking to me about this person, and then I wondered if God wanted to say something to him through me. I quickly remarked about his T-shirt and rambled on, trying to connect. I couldn’t get eye contact, and his back remained to me, a grunt in reply.

“Oh, wait. I need to stand back a moment.” I thought. “If God wants to speak through me, I need to listen to God to see what He wants to say.” (!)

It was a moment of genius when I remembered that God doesn’t need me to be a little goddess for him by letting my mouth run away with my brain. Instead, what is He saying?

I felt God say to ask him where he goes to church.

Now, I live in a community where less than 4% of adults go to church regularly. And by regularly, I mean once at Christmas.

The exponential growth bell curve for “churchgoers” is reversed for teens, so exponentially fewer teens in our area attend church than even the infrequent adults. I was about to change my question to this youth, slightly, to WHETHER he attended church instead of the incredibly obnoxious WHERE he goes to church.

I sensed again a nudge from the heart of God tugging at my sleeve, asking him WHERE he goes to church.

I guided the topic as naturally as possible, from Las Vegas, the city name on his hoodie, to our small local community, “Isn’t it better to live here than in Las Vegas?” I attempted lamely. He grunted in reply. “Better opportunities exist for a good community here, and I have found a church community. There are so many great churches with amazing communities.” I had crossed the bridge.

Would I end up on his side of the road? “So, where do you go to church,” I asked as non-violently as possible. My husband did a double-take, and I could almost see him rolling his eyes under the coffee cup as he sipped it.

The young man said that he goes to the Gospel Chapel when he goes, but he hasn’t been in awhile. A land! The airplane landed! A connection was made.

I had several experiences with that church, so we bonded over these experiences for a bit.

Tell him what I told you, I sensed. Was that God, or no? Well, I was in this far…

“You know, as soon as I saw you, I felt God say that you are one of His,” I began. This teen, who purposely put his back to me as often as possible earlier and issued only a few grunts for conversation, glued his eyes to mine. He leaned forward.

Again, I felt an overwhelming wave of God’s love and perhaps empathy – for that young man. It was a sense that God understood him, understood his struggles, and loved him so very much.

“I feel that God loves you so very much,” I tried to spit out. I was nearly crying, and the emotion overwhelmed me. “He is pleased with you.”

Adding a notch to this weird experience, I sensed God nudging me to ask to pray for him. So I did. And he accepted.

And it was the most natural thing in the world for a woman in her forties to pray for a teen recluse she had never met at a random coffee shop.

It’s not weird. It’s perhaps, a glimpse again of authentic Christian living.

I was thirsty for more.

The need to worship was overwhelming, and I needed to do this before speaking with my husband. We drove home together. He and I were side by side in the car, sipping our Americanos.

“What was that about?” he finally asked.

“Nothing weird. Just a glimpse of authentic Christian living,” I replied, taking a bite of my energy ball. He nodded, and we drove on.

Where to next, God?

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