Second in the Toronto Trilogy
When the revolving doors of the Eaton Centre spat me out onto the sidewalk, I noticed them. A cluster of five girls all dressed in jeans and fashionable coats. Chestnut hair of both the straight and tight-curl variety framed their innocent faces. They whispered and jostled. Then the short vivacious one blurted, “She wants to know.” The tall one behind her shushed her. “Oh, never mind. She doesn’t want to know.” With that they giggled and disappeared into the churning masses of humanity.
Our group sang. Some passed out tracks. Our voices were tired, and we closed our song books. As our leader spoke some final words, I prayed that the words would speak to somebody. When I opened my eyes, the listening crowd surprised me.
I noticed them. Those five teen girls had returned. They were still giggling and jostling. They noticed that they had my attention and the attention of another girl in my group. “Whoohoo,” one called. The short one stepped out again, “Hey, whoohoo! She just has a whoohoo question.”
“Go ahead and ask,” I replied.
“If you’re a homosexual, will you go to heaven?”
And I know, that some of you, readers, will take this answer and unfollow me. That’s okay. Others of you will cheer me on. Still, others of you will listen to my bold words in a sort of awe that someone still believes there’s black and white, because deep-down you are heart hungry for the voice of truth, in a world gone gray.
My friend and I looked at each other, then at the girls. “No.”
“Okay, so like some of us our Lesbian.”
“I’m not. These four are. I’m not. I’m totally into guys.”
“That’s okay. We’re not going to judge you. We still like you, but we believe it’s wrong.” The words from my friend’s mouth and my own tumble over each other.
What followed was one of the most chaotic, awesome, searching conversations that I have ever experienced.
“So, what’s different about what you believe and Jews.”
“Like, so, you guys say that you’re the only way, right. But how can you know that the Jews or the Catholics aren’t right.”
“Have you even studied the Quran? Have you even given another religion a chance? Were you born into this religion? Aren’t you kind of biased.”
“Ok, so God died, but He didn’t die. How does that work?”
“Wait! What! There’s three gods.”
“Ok, so, I get it these three are all one God, but why did God come to earth? Why did he die?”
“Like, so why do you wear those white things on your head? Is that part of your religion?”
“That’s so cool. Like we girls are all seventeen, and you are too,” they said to my friend . (I am a leetle older)
“I’m like an antanst-ante-whatever. I believe that there’s a higher power, but you can’t really know much more.” Another one giggles.
“Like why do you even care about us? Why do you come here to sing and talk about this?”
“Because we love you. Don’t take that the wrong way, but we really do.”
At first, the questions come like snowflakes in the blizzard, and five against two is almost confusing. Then, it softens down to mostly one of them. She is tiny. Tight curls dance around her narrow face. Her expression is open. I sense that she is searching for the direction her life will take. I know too, that we are just one of the bids out there.
What is it about my faith that makes it The Way, the Bible The Truth?
I could have told her that the Bible has been proven historically, scientifically, and prophetically accurate. I could have told her that the Bible is a classic piece of literature. Written over multiple centuries by multiple authors and yet without contradiction, it must be Spirit-breathed. I could have told her that no other religion has a God powerful enough to die and rise again.
But I didn’t. Instead, the only words that God gave me were to tell her that the reason God came to earth and died was because He loved her. He wants her in heaven.
Because deep down, beneath the decades of feminism, no matter how in-control a woman looks, all she wants is for someone else to be all-powerful and take care of her. She wants to be loved unconditionally for who she is.
We prayed for them then, my friend and I. I have never prayed such a bold prayer, ” God, my friend and I know that you are the only God, but we also know that we can’t completely prove it. We believe it by faith. We know that You sent Your Son to die for our sins, because you loved each of us. These girls here. I ask you to speak to them and show them Yourself. May they know your love and let them have a good week, Lord.”
My friend’s prayer was sweeter and gentler.
I wanted to give them an e-mail address for further questions, but we disbanded instantly. I trust that the God Who brought me into their life will bring others to water The Truth. He loves them–oh!–so much more than I.