A Test, Who's Watching?

Have you every had a really ordinary experience turn extraordinary all at once? You’re in your favorite spot doing your regular gig, and then all of a sudden what was once commonplace now turns completely surreal. Everything changes. Something has interrupted your groove and perhaps intervened for some purpose. Something, be that a person, a sound, a commotion, a conversation, or a timely word, has altered what may have been an unrecognized passing moment.

I had one such experience, last week, actually. I was in my favorite writing spot in NW Calgary, which for many of you who know me well can probably guess as the Starbucks in Crowfoot. I grabbed my quasi-usual armchair beside the couch and coffee table, ordered my tall-bold-no-room coffee, leaned back in pure satisfaction after my first sip, and began writing in my coil notebook. Such was the routine I was accustomed to at this Starbucks. Nothing out of the ordinary, simply complete bliss and relaxation; the perfect atmosphere to engage in writing. I wrote about 3 pages until my first pleasant surprise came along.

It came with a familiar voice that I’ve grown to love dearly and followed by a surprised laugh that I could pinpoint in any crowd. I looked up already expecting to see my mom and dad ordering their coffee at the till. They had been out running some errands and came to the Starbucks with no presumption I would be sitting in their writing. They sat on the couch beside my armchair and we talked about the day, about the weekend and about my future as a pastor. I shared some of my anxieties and concerns about my job placement, not least of which was my faith in God’s direction. Little did I know in that commonplace moment my faith would be tested not two hours later in that exact same spot. My parents finished the last few sips of their coffee and made it on their way again. I stayed behind to continue writing. I felt as though I was on a roll and was compelled to continue until I couldn’t write any more.

I was intently writing on loving God and refusing to make excuses that lead toward mediocrity. Having written the developing thoughts of my argument I started to passionately drive home my point. As I began this literary journey, my excursion was interrupted abruptly. At first I thought the interruption originated from the two overly-dramatic girls who couldn’t decide whether they wanted to sit on the couch beside me or on the stools. With a few whispers and laughs they opted for the stools and I dismissed the interruption as an inconvenient distraction. The interruption came again, this time more poignantly than before. I put down my pen, gently closed my notebook and listened. Without a doubt I heard something. It was not auditory, yet undeniably vocal. The calling that was neither human nor earthly simultaneously gripped my heart and mind. The instruction was clear: “In a moment someone will sit beside you on the couch. They will ask you what you are writing. You must tell them.”

At first I was paralyzed with fear at encounter and the possibility that it could be supernatural prophecy. A moment later I tried everything I could to dismiss the instruction as my mind playing tricks on me. I grabbed my pen, opened my notebook and began to write frantically in attempts to distract myself. The recollection of the encounter never quite left. Deep in my being I knew the instruction would come to pass. It was simply a matter of time and my willingness.

Strangely enough, the two whimsical girls came back to sit on the couch, but not quite beside me. They sat at the opposite end, continuing in their female gabble and giggles. I half expected one of them to ask what I was writing, but when they got up and returned to their car a strange and fleeting sense of failure brushed my mind. Was I supposed to begin a conversation with these two that would lead them to ask what I was writing? Was I paralyzed by my own lack of faith to pursue what was right? Though the thought was present, I was able to easily dismiss it. I felt a sense of peace even in dismissing the sense of failure, trusting that if the aforementioned instruction were indeed supernatural guidance, the experience to come would be undeniable. All the same, I still dreaded sharing my faith with a stranger.

It wasn’t five minutes after the last guests on the couch beside me dismissed themselves that another group of college students came to the till beside me to order their coffees. It was a group of four of them, this time, one of whom was impossible to miss. They say there are two kinds of people in this world: those who are introverts and those who are extroverts, but I would have to say the guy that just came in, the one who was impossible to miss, he was in a category all on his own. I am an extrovert. Compared to this guy, I seem like the shyest person you will ever meet. I don’t think there was one word this guy said that anyone in the Starbucks missed. For that matter, I don’t think there was one thought this guy had that wasn’t made explicitly auditory. He was certainly the strongest personality in his group of friends, and he engaged each of them, along with half the people in the Starbucks, as he vibrantly recounted the events of the last week. Mind you, it was not so much the captivating nature of the stories that compelled the attention of so many, but more so the sheer volume and presence of his personality. I looked up from my notebook to catch a glance of this character. I quickly noticed that I was not the only one spotting this individual. Having seen all I needed, I bowed my head and said a gentle prayer somewhat to the effect of, “Dear God, thank you so much for this guy at the till and his vibrant personality. Please help him to sit anywhere but on this couch next to me. Amen.” That was mistake number one. I don’t know what it is with God and answering these kinds of prayers, maybe it’s his sense of humor, but for whatever reason things seem to happen in the exact opposite way you want them to every time. “Hey man! Can we sit on this couch thingy beside you?” he nodded toward the couch and began to sit down before I answered. “Absolutely! Please, be my guest!” If my prayer was mistake number one then this response was mistake number two. Absolutely? Be my guest? I was making it sound like I wanted him to sit down. Immediately after I gave this invitation, pen and notebook in hand, I knew without a shadow of a doubt what the next question would be.

When you expect that a certain event that will take you out of your comfort zone may occur, you become anxious. When you realize there is no chance whatsoever in avoiding such an event, you become terrified. I was terrified. It wouldn’t be so bad if I knew that I could kind of enter into a surface level conversation, barely, but I knew with this guy there was no possibility of that.
The question came without any form of disguise whatsoever. “What are you writing?” he asked. When the instruction I heard earlier told me someone would ask me what I was writing, I didn’t think the instruction was that literal. I paused for what seemed to be an eternity. “Uh, well, haha,” I think were the first profound words that came out of my mouth. I considered for a split second to lie or to tell about something else I had written. A second later, though, I knew what I needed to say, “I’m actually writing a book about life and my thoughts on God.”
“Oh, so you believe in God?”
“Yes, I do”
“Oh, so you believe there is a heaven and a hell then?”
“Yes, I do”
Without the slightest hesitation, this guy began to tell me his opinion of heaven and hell as if I had asked him for it. “yeah, I believe in heaven and hell to, but like, I believe that earth is hell. I believe that heaven is where you go when you escape hell, so like, I believe in reincarnation. Do you believe in reincarnation? Do you believe that it’s possible?”

I wanted to be as respectful as possible without compromising my convictions, “well, um, no, not really, no, I don’t believe that.”

“So do you believe God is a man?”
“Well, I believe in Jesus, Yes.”
What came next surprised me. This guy obviously knew about Christianity and had chosen not to believe in it, “Oh, so you believe that God came to earth and he died on a cross to save the world and forgive sin and all that?”
“Yep, I guess, that sounds about right”
“I don’t believe in that. So do you think of God as a big man with long grey hair?”
I could tell he was partly mocking me, yet not without an appreciation for my opposing views. The conversation ended shortly after this question as this guy and his friends lost interest in the topic and conversation. I should say that while the guy bombarding me with questions was obviously not uncomfortable about pursuing the theological discussion, his friends more than obviously were. The entire time each of them were curled up like worms being scorched on hot pavement. They looked at the floor nearly the entire time as though I was going to start biting their heads off. It was ironically comical.

About ten minutes later the group of friends made it on their way. The guy bid me farewell and good luck on my book, a little tongue-in-cheek, but sincere nonetheless. I sat there on the armchair, dumbfounded to say the least. I shook my head and laughed quietly to myself. I had to take a moment to process everything that had just happened. It seemed like a really weird dream or something that you would read about. I guess I never thought I’d be the one writing the story. I finished my journal entry in my coil notebook, imagining what sort of influence my testimony may have had. What was its purpose? Why did God bring that exact person to me at that exact moment? Was it some sort of test?

The timing of events to my thoughts was beginning to seem a little beyond coincidental. During this entire experience at Starbucks I would be processing a thought and then immediately the answer would come. This last thought was no exception. Right as I was processing the purpose of the encounter, I was interrupted one last time. This time when I looked up I saw an old friendly face I had never seen before. It was a strong but older man, probably edging his late 60’s. With grey hair and glasses he looked at me and smiled and said, “I heard what you said to those people sitting over there. Way to go! Keep up the good work!” he gave me a thumbs-up, smiled once again, and turned to leave. I expressed my thanks for his encouragement, and I was encouraged. I was very encouraged. I guess I passed the test.

I forgot to mention something about this last stranger. I never did see him come in to the Starbucks. I distinctly remember looking over my shoulder before the group of people came in and the man wasn’t behind me. Of course, the man could have been hidden behind some ornament or poster board, but what happened next was even more astonishing. I looked down at my notebook briefly after the man turned to leave and I looked up again and the man was gone. I don’t really even know if anyone but me knew he was there. Perhaps it was a mysterious encounter with a kind individual who was prompted by God to encourage me. Perhaps it was something else.

You never know who may be watching, listening and observing your testimony; perhaps a guy who needs to be put back on track, perhaps a bystander who will be encouraged by your conviction, or perhaps, perhaps God will be listening in on your conversation with one of his very own messengers…

You never know when God will test you. You never know when your testimony will make an eternal difference. If you were in my shoes tomorrow, would you pass the test?