I swear to you that not even three days ago I was on my therapist’s couch, telling him that I felt I was being reshaped, I had no clue into what, that it was scaring the shit out of me, and that I was thrilled at the prospect…

…and now (after having a fantastic lunch with a kind, gentle, and loving woman of faith that prepared my heart for this) I was standing up looking at two authors, two missional ministry leaders, two women that found Christ (either for the first time or again) later in life (late 30’s and beyond) and asking them did they grieve for the time before they came to Christ.

They didn’t. They thought that it enhanced what they were doing and gave it a depth they wouldn’t have had otherwise.

After 2 years (?!!?) of worshiping and studying Reformed theology as a PCA presby, this evening listening to Progressive Christians as outside my comfort zone (!??!). Starting with a high church hymn in a beautiful building followed by well written and profanity laced wit struck a chord. Listening to Nadia Bols-Weber with her tats, her love for Christ, her desire minister to saints and sinners alike, her foul language and her seminary training and her ministry, I felt like a child hiding just out of site and listening to her parents watch something naughty on TV. Something that they sent you to bed so they could watch in peace, assuring you that you were too young and you would understand when you got older.

I still had that feeling when I went to the choir room to buy the book above and moved to the book signing line. A sweet woman with a stack of sticky notes asked me who I wanted the book signed to.

I tried to say my name and it wouldn’t come out.

Then I realized that this was not for me; this was a gift for someone in the future. This book was for someone that I had locked away, ignored and pretended didn’t exist. Someone I knew had time to grow, but I was uncertain if they had. Someone I knew would find it shocking, scandalous, and maybe unChristian… but would hold it close to their heart.

I took another moment to think (the sweet lady was also a patient one), and asked to write it myself.

“It’s a gift for a dear friend”

She smiled, placed the sticky in the book on the correct page and went on to the next person in line.

I didn’t look inside (frankly I couldn’t believe that I was going down this path again, either, but oh well…) and fixed my gaze on Nadia as she signed and smiled at my tats.

I walked to my car, placed the book in a safe place and drove home and when I got home took a look.

The irony is not lost on me and only a few will get it… don’t ask me why I did this. All I can tell you is that it made and still makes all the sense in the world to me.

only a few will get it…