When Eternity Holds Its Breath
It was a hectic day at the newspaper where I worked as an editor. Several major stories erupted before deadline. Reporters were scurrying around as they frantically tried to finish their articles. With emotions frayed, just about everyone lost their tempers.
On many days, the stress of journalism caused me to lose my composure too. But as a fairly new Christian, I asked God for his help as soon as the day looked like it was going to spiral out of control. Thanks to him, I managed to stay uncharacteristically calm amidst the chaos.
After the last story was edited, I looked up and was surprised to see one of my bosses standing over my desk. Uh-oh! That wasn’t a good sign. But it turned out that he wasn’t there to upbraid me about some mistake or oversight. Instead, he took me off guard by asking with genuine curiosity, “Strobel, how did you get through the day without blowing your top?”
Then, apparently suspecting a link between my behavior and the fact that I went to church on Sundays, he added the words that sent a chill down my spine: “What’s this Christianity thing to you?”
Whoa! For a moment I froze. Nobody had ever asked me anything like that before. In fact, I had never shared my faith with anyone. The only way my boss even knew I attended church was because I once told him I couldn’t go on an outing with him on a Sunday morning. And now, out of the blue, I was being put on the spot.
I didn’t know what to say or how to say it. I was afraid I would utter the wrong words. I didn’t want to embarrass myself or have him make fun of me. I fretted about what would happen to my career if I gushed about my faith and became known as the newsroom’s “holy roller.” There was a lot at stake.
My mind raced. Maybe I could dismiss the whole thing with a joke: Christianity? Hey, what happens in church stays in church. Maybe I could simply pretend I didn’t hear him over the din of the newsroom: Yeah, it was a crazy day. Man, look at the time! I’ve gotta get home or Leslie’s gonna kill me!
That’s when the uninvited words of the apostle Paul coursed through my mind: “I am not ashamed of the gospel” (Romans 1:16). Great, I thought. Just what I needed — a biblical guilt trip.
Though it seemed as if minutes were ticking by, all of this occurred in a flash. Finally, even as I was opening my mouth to reply, I made a scary split-second decision: I resolved to take a spiritual risk.
I looked up at my boss. “You really want to know? Let’s go into your office.”
Behind closed doors, we talked for forty-five minutes. Well, to be honest, I did most of the talking. I was really nervous. Never having been trained in how to engage with others about my faith, I fumbled around and wasn’t nearly as clear as I could have been. Still, in my own sincere but admittedly inept way, I tried to de scribe how I met Jesus and the difference he had made in my life.
An amazing thing happened. He didn’t laugh. He didn’t make fun of me. He didn’t nervously try to change the topic or make excuses so he could leave the room. Instead, he listened intently. By the end, he was hanging on every word.
At the same time, I felt like I was going to burst on the inside. It instantly became clear to me that nothing was as urgent or exciting as what I was doing in this seemingly serendipitous conversation. It felt as if time were standing still, as if eternity were holding its breath.
I’m not sure how God used that conversation in my boss’s life, but I do know this: he undeniably used it in mine. When I emerged from that office, I was thoroughly invigorated. It felt like the air was carbonated! There are no words to adequately describe the thrill I felt in having been used by God to communicate his message of hope to someone far from him. It was as if my entire life up to that point had been a movie shot in very grainy black-and-white 16 mm film with scratchy sound — but those forty-five minutes were in vivid Technicolor with rich Dolby stereo.
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